


The Snakes of Sicily

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Series: Last of the Time Lords [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Time Lords (Doctor Who), Body Modification, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Illness, Sea Monsters, Terminal Illnesses, The Master Has Issues (Doctor Who), The Odyssey References, Timey-Wimey, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: Rory Williams wanted to have his stag night in peace. Amy Pond wanted people to stop flirting with her fiancé. And the mothers wanted their children safe.The Master only wanted to forget.Or the one where the Ponds get their wedding present, the TARDIS refuses to behave, and things have a (sort of) happy ending for once.
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Tenth Doctor & The Master (Simm), The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Master & Amy Pond (Doctor Who), The Master & Rory Williams
Series: Last of the Time Lords [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511825
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	The Snakes of Sicily

**Author's Note:**

> Writing episodes about Ancient History is a pain. Next ones are going to be in the future, so I don't have to worry about keeping facts straight.
> 
> Not exactly happy with how this one turned out, but it'll have to do. Sorry, guys.

_“Heeeey!_ It's me. Hello. How are you?” Rory says into his phone, covering his free ear with his hand to try and mute the noise in the pub. 

He knows he's not supposed to call, that he should just be enjoying himself with his friends and drinking and all that, but he just… He's so _drunk_ on love—and maybe a beer more than he should have had at this point—that he can't _not_ call. 

After all, this is _Amy Pond,_ only the most wonderful, beautiful, strong and courageous woman Rory has ever met. 

Which is one of the reasons Amy assumed he was gay for most of his life. But seriously, with _Amy_ as his best friend? How could he ever look at any other girl when there was _Amy?_ There had always been Amy, and _only_ Amy. 

And now, it'll be only Amy _for the rest of their lives._

Well, Amy and her answerphone, but Rory's too overjoyed to care about that. She'll hear the message in the morning, and after… 

“The reason for this call is because I haven't told you for seven hours that I love you, which is _a scandal,_ and even if we weren't getting married tomorrow, I'd ask you to marry me anyway,” _again,_ a part of his brain adds, while yet another one reminds him of the mess of nerves he'd been the first time around. “Yes, I would, because you are _smashing,”_ he says instead, pushing back that _wonderful_ yet utterly embarrassing experience in favor of the now, because it _worked._

Amy Pond and Rory Williams are getting married tomorrow, the twenty-sixth of June of 2010, and _nothing_ could make this night, his stag night, or tomorrow go wrong. 

He's about to tell Amy that, to tell her all the reasons she's amazing and how that means tomorrow is going to be the best day of their lives, when cheers erupt all around and he's turned around to see a giant pink cake being wheeled into the pub. 

“Oh, blimey. I've—I've, er, got to go. I'll see you tomorrow,” he tells Amy instead, and pockets his phone with a grin. 

Just because he'll never look at another woman the way he looks at Amy doesn't mean Rory can't have fun tonight. He specifically asked his friends to _not_ have a stripper, though, so he can't help but be curious too. Did they just ignore him and hire a stripper? … Well, he can mock their faces later. Did they actually listen and get him something _else?_ If so, what is it? 

“Out. Out. Out,” the whole of the pub seems to chant in unison, and Rory feels his grin grow— 

The top of the cake bursts with an explosion of color that makes Rory's eyes water and the pub falls completely silent. 

_Oh, no. It can't be._

“Nurse Boy! Been a while. Two years, give or take, isn't that right? And what did you do? Get engaged to Amelia Pond,” the _Raggedy Doctor_ chirps happily as he hops out of the cake, shark grin in place. “I'm afraid my invitation got lost in the mail. Ah, but what can you do? I'm here now, and that's all that counts!” he adds cheerfully, with a big grin that is not as threatening as the shark grin but it's still not that innocent either. 

The reason Rory can't do more than stand there gaping, though, is not the Doctor's words, but his outfit. Or, to be more specific, his _lack thereof._ He's clad only in black boxers with bright red hearts printed all over them and the most outrageous coat Rory's ever had the displeasure of seeing, as if it had been caught in an explosion at a paint factory. 

And that's it. No trousers or shirt or even _shoes._ Underwear and a coat, and nothing more. 

If this is his friends' idea of a joke after the whole _I don't want a stripper at my stag,_ Rory will have to— 

No, who is he kidding? His friends could have _never_ thought of having a mostly naked Raggedy Doctor jump out of the cake even if they had all banded together to think about it. 

And Rory knows the Doctor, the _actual_ Doctor, and this guy is most definitely him. 

“And on the topic of weddings, I've got a message from your fiancée,” the Doctor adds as he nonchalantly steps up to him, and Rory perks up, chalking the clothes thing to the Doctor's odd nature and focusing instead on his words— 

The Doctor fists Rory's shirt, pulls him down, and _kisses him._

Rory's brain fizzles and dies. It – That – What – How – _Gah?_

An eternity later, the Doctor pulls back, just a hairsbreadth away, and Rory finds himself leaning forward when he doesn't feel that cutting grin against his lips anymore, stopped only when his nose bumps into the Doctor's. 

His eyes are _really_ gold. No, green. No, gold. No— 

“Come get your wedding present, Mister Pond.” 

The Doctor pulls away fully, hands leaving Rory's shirt as he turns around and walks to the door, and Rory stumbles on his own feet before he remembers how to walk, following in a daze— 

“Your phone, Mister Saxon! And can I say, I _love_ your getup. How did you do it?” a girl in an eyesore of a rainbow-colored suit that sits oddly on her, like it was made for a man instead, asks the Doctor as they get to the door, handing him what looks like a flip phone. “Oh, and your suit—” 

“Keep it, Lucy. Was it Lucy? Yeah, just keep it, as thanks for the video. It isn't like I'll be using it, anyways. And the secret is to use _just_ the necessary amount of makeup and keep in mind what it is that you want. Ta!” 

When they step into the street and the cold slams into Rory is when his brain _finally_ reboots. 

“You _kissed me!”_ he shrieks, voice too high pitched to be anything else, as he follows the bloody psycho alien away from the silent pub. “On my stag night! You _kissed_ me!” 

“That's what a kissogram does, isn't it? I thought it would be fitting to give Amy's message that way,” the Doctor answers with an unrepentant grin as he stops in front of a blue phone box and takes a key out of the pocket of his dreadful coat. 

Blue phone box—No, wait, it has 'police' written on it. This means that this isn't a phone box, but the time-traveling machine Amy told him about when they were kids. 

Which is why Rory doesn't hesitate as he follows the crazy alien inside. 

“You can't just— _Whoa,”_ he lets out as he finally looks around, the undecipherable mess of emotions coiling in his stomach vanishing as he takes in the sight. 

The ship is impressive, bigger on the inside, but it is Amy who takes his breath away, standing on what looks like the control platform and dressed in a golden accented sky-blue tunic dress, like a Roman goddess from history books. 

If Rory wasn't already engaged to her, he would ask her to marry him. Again. And _again._

Unfortunately, there are more important things right now, like the crazy alien grabbing his arm and dragging him down a corridor on their lower level. 

“Come on, Nurse Boy! Time to get changed. You won't want to be dressed like that where we're going, trust me,” the Doctor explains simply as they leave the room, though he twists to shoot Amy a large grin over his shoulder. “By the way, Amelia, I approve of your job as a kissogram! It's really fun!” 

Rory tries to protest, but the rush of blood to his face leaves him disorientated and stammering nonsense. 

“What are you—Oh my God! Raggedy Man, did you kiss _my fiancé?! Raggedy Man!”_ Amy shouts after them, but her voice gets lost as they go around the corner. 

“Where are we going? And what was that kiss about?!” Rory asks, jerking his arm out of the Doctor's grip but following obediently, slightly intimidated at the sheer size of the ship. 

Doesn't it _end?_

“We're going to the wardrobe, to get period-appropriate clothing. And the kiss was because I had a message to give, and I was curious about what would happen if I delivered it that way,” the Doctor answers with a shrug, twisting to give Rory a shark grin over his shoulder as he takes a flip phone out of a pocket of his eyesore of a coat. “I'm definitely _not_ disappointed. The faces should be _hilarious._ And the blackmail possibilities! Think about those!” 

“You did _not_ make a video of you kissing me!” Rory protests with dismay, and his jaw falls again as they finally enter the wardrobe. 

Isles and isles of clothes from many time periods, half of them alien or futuristic, fill the large room, and it takes Rory a moment to locate the Doctor after he's done gawking at it all. This place is _crazy._ Amy never talked about it back when they were kids! 

“Of course not. Lucy, the stripper, took it for me. Can you believe your so-called friends had her waiting in a bikini _outside?_ Completely not fair to the poor girl, really,” he huffs, stopping to carefully, almost lovingly, put his coat on a hanger and in a rack, next to a frock coat and what looks like a cricket suit, before resuming their walk. “Besides, I do recall you kissing _back.”_

“I did _not!”_

“Did too.” 

“Did not!” 

“Did too.” 

“… Are we seriously doing this?” Rory finally asks as he realizes the kind of argument they've devolved into, and the Doctor's next grin is sharp once more. 

“If you want to, sure. Take your clothes off.” 

“ _What?!”_ Rory squeaks, chocking on his breath, before taking a step back and gesturing madly. “No, absolutely not! We are not—Alright, I'll admit it, I kissed back—” 

“Nurse Boy—” 

“—But can you fault me? It was a good kiss, a great one, and I kissed back, how couldn't I? But I'm getting married! In the morning! I can't—” 

“Rory!” the Raggedy Doctor cuts, grinning like a loon yet still managing to grimace in disgust at the same time. “Seriously? Kissing is all in good fun, but anything else? That's just disgusting. Besides, humans don't have the necessary bits for that.” 

“… We don't?” 

“Do you seriously want me to explain about _Gallifreyan sex?”_

“No, right, don't,” Rory blurts out hurriedly as he realizes just _what_ he was asking about—and remembers what started them down that road. “Why would you want me to take my clothes off for then?” 

“I told you already! Period-appropriate clothing,” the Doctor answers with an eyeroll, grabbing something maroon and a big off-white thing from a rack and handing them to him. “Put these on. Tunic first, toga on top, and wrap it over your _left_ shoulder. They were very big on that stuff,” he adds once Rory accepts the clothes, and, before he can wonder about _that,_ the Doctor leaves for another section. 

_Does that mean I have to take my clothes off in the middle of the corridor?_

“Ugh, Rory, focus,” he tells himself, rubbing his face as if that would make his blush disappear. 

The Doctor is an alien. Whatever he did in the pub must have been an alien thing. That's the only possible explanation, and the only one Rory will accept. 

Aliens. Seriously. 

Nevertheless, Rory looks down at the bundle of tunic and toga he's supposed to put on and, after locating a free perch for his current clothes, changes into it. 

… Or, well, he _tries_ to. The maroon tunic is easy enough to put on, simply sliding it over his head and wrapping a leather belt around his waist, but the toga is _a mess._ It has no up or down, and it's _huge,_ and Rory ends up jumping and bundling it all in his arms when the Doctor pops up from _nowhere_ to ask him if he's done. 

“Don't scare me like that!” 

“I just said 'ready', how is that scary?” 

“I didn't know you were there! And, huh, no, I am _not_ ready. I can't make sense of this thing,” Rory confesses, knowing better than to try to lie to the Doctor. 

The alien is bloody scary when he wants to, and capable of getting into people's heads. Two years haven't made Rory forget that, and his research has _definitely_ not helped in that regard. 

“They are notoriously difficult to put on, but it's law. Let me give you a hand,” the Doctor answers calmly, and so Rory hands him the toga and waits patiently as the Doctor folds it back properly in preparation of wrapping Rory in it. 

It's probably because he's just standing there doing nothing that Rory finally notices _one_ tiny detail about the Raggedy Doctor that is _not_ the same as two years ago. 

His hair is the same pale blond shade and length, his smirk as sharp as ever, his eyes as strangely human-like as before. But as he observes all his meticulous yet simply-looking folding of the toga, Rory catches a glimpse of pink that has his nurse training reaching for the first aid kit he always keeps in his jacket's pocket. 

Only, since he's not wearing his jacket now, this results in an awkward moment of Rory patting his sides and hips, which, of course, attracts the Doctor's attention. 

“What are you doing? It isn't that cold in here, is it?” the Doctor asks, lifting an eyebrow, with the toga finally folded properly in his hands, which Rory tries very hard not to look at. 

It isn't the toga that has Rory's attention this time, but the scar on the Doctor's right hand, over the thumb and index, and wrapping down his hand and forearm. There's a hint of another scar on what little Rory can see of the Doctor's chest under his own off-white tunic and the crimson edge of his toga, but that one is far paler and almost gone. If he hadn't been looking for it after seeing the one on his hand, Rory's sure he wouldn't have noticed the other. 

But still, the point stands. Rory saw the Doctor naked for but a moment, back when the Atraxi came to Earth to capture Prisoner Zero, but he's far more familiar with his hands due to how many times he took Rory's phone, so he _knows_ the Raggedy Doctor didn't have that scar two years ago. 

How _long_ has it been since then? Has it been two years for the Doctor too? And if so, why come back now? … It can't be because of the wedding, can it? There's no way Amy managed to send an invitation! They _talked_ about this! 

“No. No, it's not cold. Just, you know,” Rory finally answers, settling for a shrug, and the Doctor gives him a 'humans are beneath me' look before shaking his head dismissively. 

“No, I don't, and I couldn't be more grateful. How you manage with such inferior brains, I will never understand. Then again, roaches are quite the survivors, too,” he muses almost to himself, and, no matter how much he wants to retort, Rory bites his tongue, knowing he'll just be giving him more ammunition if he protests against being compared to _a cockroach._ “Now, lift your arms and let me put this on you so we can go.” 

Rory does, and after one awkward moment of the Doctor walking around him throwing swathes of cloth this and that way and adjusting Rory's arms, the toga fits as perfectly and regally on Rory as it does the actors in the movies. So, the next step is to take a pair of Roman sandals each. 

“Fortunately for you, these are not actual Roman togas, but souvenirs from Saturnyne. They're a mostly underwater race, so they made sure the fabric was light and adherent enough to keep its shape and stick together without actual fussing,” the Doctor explains as he hands Rory a pair of plain brown sandals with covered toes, while he takes a pair of red ones for himself. 

“Right. Thank you, I guess. But what _is_ all this about? Me and Amy, here, in _togas._ Why?” Rory asks once he's managed to tie his sandals—easier said than done—and they finally leave the wardrobe. 

“One, Amy is _not_ wearing a toga, only a tunic. Togas were for prostitutes. And as for your question, _I told you already._ Humans, never paying attention,” the Doctor scoffs, giving him a deadpan look, but just rolls his shoulders in a shrug as he finishes tying a pouch to his belt, under the toga. “It's your wedding present. Amy told me you're getting married in the morning. She showed me the dress and everything, said she wanted me there, but you know how etiquette goes. How am I going to show to a wedding without a present? And what do I have to offer?” he asks, obviously rhetorically, as he gestures at the corridor. “So, a trip! Amy has a lot of paraphernalia about the Roman Empire in her room, but she said you're honeymooning in Thailand instead. Something about the ruins not being romantic enough, or not well-cared for or whatever. But _I_ don't have that problem. So, next stop, the Roman Empire!” he proclaims grandiosely as they finally enter the control room through the corridor on the level of the platform, even though Rory could've sworn they'd gone down through the lower one. “Any questions?” 

“Did you or did you not kiss my fiancé?” Amy practically _hisses,_ standing by the console with her hands on her hips and a frankly terrifying—and hot—scowl on her face. 

“Yes, I did. You're a lucky girl, he's a great kisser. A bit slow on the uptake, but in his defense, I _did_ surprise him,” the Doctor answers shamelessly, moving to the controls to start shuffling things around, and Rory can only bury his red face in his hands with a whimper. 

He's doomed. There he was, about to marry the most wonderful girl in the world, and now said most wonderful girl in the world— 

_Slap!_

“ _Ow!_ What was that for?” the Doctor whines, jaw hanging open and a hand rubbing a spot of red on his arm, and Rory can only stare dumbfounded. 

Did _Amy_ just slap _the Raggedy Doctor?_ The alien who destroyed a shapeshifter's brain and made a whole army run away with their tails between their legs, _that_ Doctor? 

“You are _not_ allowed to go around kissing other people's fiancés! You don't even _like_ humans!” 

“I like _messing_ with humans! Why is that so hard to understand?” 

“Stay away from my fiancé, Raggedy Man!” 

“ _Fine!”_ the Doctor huffs, throwing his hands up, and Amy leans back, arms crossed against her chest and triumphant smirk on her face. “See if I do anything nice for you again. Seriously, you try to give someone a present, and what do they do? Slap you!” 

“Don't mess with someone's husband, then. Or husband-to-be,” Amy sniffs proudly, looking down at the pouting Doctor, and Rory can only stare at them with wide eyes and his jaw halfway to the floor. 

_What just happened?_

“Are you trying to catch flies there, Nurse Boy?” the Raggedy Doctor asks after a huff, grinning maliciously at Rory, who snaps his mouth shut more in surprise than in answer to the words. “I know, the TARDIS is magnificent, get it out of your system. You haven't seen anything yet.” 

“It's another dimension,” Rory answers confidently as he carefully makes his way to their side, and, this time, the look he receives from the Doctor is of interest. “I did my research these past two years.” 

And the Raggedy Doctor grins. 

“Aha! A hard-worker! I knew I liked you for a reason, Rory Williams,” he chirps almost proudly, returning his attention to the console as if he wasn't at the end of Amy's glare and Rory's own worried look. “This one is a good catch, Amelia. He actually pays attention. Sometimes. Not much. Just enough. Alright, I take that back.” 

“Is he _always_ this rude?” Rory asks before he can stop himself, more than a little insulted, but Amy is grinning widely. 

“Only when he likes you. If he doesn't, he's downright insulting,” she answers calmly, winking at him, and Rory deflates even as he rolls his eyes. “You get used to him, don't worry.” 

“I would hope not, Amy dear. Life would be boring if I couldn't surprise you anymore,” the Raggedy Doctor chuckles as he moves away from the console. “I have to make some adjustments before our flight. _Don't touch anything,”_ he orders, deadly serious, before giving them a shark grin and hopping to the lower level to mess with some tools and panels. 

“Of course, because the first thing I want to do in an alien spaceship is to start pressing buttons that'll leave me stranded in, say, Venus. Is he for real?” Rory huffs, still touchy after the rollercoaster that has become his life in the last twenty minutes. 

Amy is as deadly serious as the Raggedy Doctor. 

“I'm pretty sure he can't hear us now, so pay attention. First rule of traveling with the Doctor is to _never_ call him Doctor. Use whatever name he gives you or call him Raggedy Man, but _not_ Doctor. Understood?” she tells him hurriedly, and, too startled at the urgency in her voice, Rory just nods. “We need to remind him of how to be the Doctor, but we can't call him that. He's… Rory, he's so _hurt,”_ she adds, pain filling her expression, and Rory immediately puts his hands on her arms to support her, though he's unwilling to hug her yet, as it would break eye contact. “He's broken, and I don't really know everything, but don't ask about the past. He's the last of his kind, the last of the Time Lords. His planet was destroyed in an alien war, his whole family is dead and… I really don't know, but he blames himself for that, for his planet and the deaths of his family and his best friend. He keeps talking about other humans too, Rose, Martha and Donna, and about how he hurt them, which, I think, is why he's so overprotective of me. And you too, now, he wouldn't have taken you aboard if he wasn't going to take care of you. And, another rule, if he starts to lose his mind, remind him of Rule 6. Just that, Rule 6, it'll do the trick. He has an awful sense of humor, really twisted, but you'll notice when he breaks. It's impossible not to, it's when he looks about to set the whole world on fire,” she adds, and Rory swallows as he remembers Prisoner Zero taunting the Doctor with little Amelia's voice, because that had been scary as Hell but he'd been _in control,_ so what is the Doctor like when he actually _breaks?_ “Last rule, _never_ leave him alone, _ever._ He's… He's torn between doing the right thing and letting people get out of their messes on their own, _which is what he should do,_ honestly. But the thing is, when he has to act it's because it's _bad._ And he gets hurt, he has almost _died_ at times, so _don't leave him alone.”_

Rory takes a deep breath, glances through the glass floor to see the Raggedy Doctor do something to some wires with a slightly bulkier and yellow-lighted version of the sonic screwdriver of two years ago, and swallows again. 

“He didn't pick you up just before me, did he?” 

Amy's eyes widen into a guilty look and Rory deflates. 

“Done!” the Raggedy Doctor exclaims before he can ask her more about it, startling them out of their conversation almost obliviously as he hops back to the console. “Hang onto something.” 

The warning, as Rory discovers a moment later, is warranted. 

Whether it's because of the machine or the pilot, Rory is still too afraid to trigger the alien's ire to ask. 

“And here we are!” the Raggedy Doctor chirps as soon as the spaceship stops shaking, bouncing to the door, but Rory straightens carefully and doesn't release his death grip on the rails until Amy tugs on his tunic. 

“Is it always this crazy?” he asks in a whisper as they step down to the door, and Amy answers with a sheepish smile. “We're doomed.” 

“Blame the TARDIS,” the Doctor huffs, rolling his eyes, before grinning sharply and grabbing onto the door handle. “Now, esteemed guests, welcome to your destination! The capital of one of the greatest, if not _the_ greatest, political and cultural powers of pre-spatial era human history, and the baseline for virtually every aspect of western culture, encompassing most of continental Europe, Britain, much of Western Asia, northern Africa and the Mediterranean islands. Currently under the glorious Pax Romana, a period of peace and prosperity never seen before, and celebrating the ascension to the throne of a certain Imperator Caesar Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus Augustus… Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the year 117 AD. Welcome… to Rome.” 

The door opens with his last words, and Rory realizes he was holding his breath in anticipation when Amy literally drags him outside in her excitement and he doesn't have the air to even squeak in protest. 

He's blinded by the sun, far warmer than he had been expecting, and can only rub his eyes and blink for a moment before he's finally able to take a look around. 

When he does, though… 

“This is wrong,” Rory comments, looking around with eyes wide as saucers, and hears a snort at his back. 

“No, it's not. It's _time travel,”_ the Doctor huffs in amusement, still inside the TARDIS, hidden behind the unopened door. 

“Raggedy Man, it _is_ wrong,” Amy protests before Rory can, scowling menacingly enough that, free now of her grasp, Rory takes a step away from her. “There's nothing here!” 

“Say again?” the Doctor asks, finally popping his head out of the TARDIS, and, a moment later, stepping out fully with a grimace. “Ugh, she did it again!” 

Rory's not sure what that's supposed to mean, but the one thing he knows is that, despite the Doctor's speech, this place is most definitely not Rome. It's just a forest of pine trees, with the chirping of crickets all around and dried grass growing on the ground. Seagulls caw all around and Rory can hear the rumbling of waves, which leads him to turn around and lean to the side to see a beach behind the TARDIS, with more land and forests across the sea. They're on a bay, maybe, or there's an island across from them, but the one thing Rory can't see, despite the beautiful blue sky, is boats. Or, truth be told, any kind of sign of human life. 

“Huh, how far back have we gone? I may not be an expert, but I'm pretty sure Rome is not by the sea,” Rory asks, interrupting whatever Amy and the Doctor are arguing about, and pointing at the island across from them. 

“Good question,” the Doctor mutters before sniffing a bit – and grinning widely. “Oh, this is almost as good! Come on, you two! We got displaced a bit, but I'm sure we can catch a ride to get to the main event,” he tells them as he locks the TARDIS and starts to walk into the woods. “We went further back than I initially wanted, but you're going to love this one.” 

“Are we sure this is safe? We are not when we were supposed to be, or where, or what is around us—” Rory protests as he tries to catch up to Amy and the Doctor, tugging his toga out of a thorny bush and marveling at the fact it doesn't have even the tiniest rip. “This material is good.” 

“Good to know you're easily distracted,” Amy huffs, her smile teasing and yet so beautiful that Rory's breath is taken away for a second at the sun falling on her through the boughs, lighting up her hair— “Still, my stupid fiancé has a point, Raggedy Man. When and where are we?” 

“Someplace good, I'm telling you,” the Doctor answers with an easy wave, guiding them out of the trees. “It's the year 750 BC, just three years after the founding of Rome, and we're—” 

Donkeys bray, the Doctor jumps back with a curse, Amy shouts, Rory gasps, and someone else pulls on the reins with a booming _halt!_

A moment later, when nothing else happens, Rory blinks and takes the scene in. 

The Doctor is all ruffled but trying to compose himself as he steps away from the startled couple of donkeys, standing up to Rory's chest and with their ears swiveling nervously as they shuffle back as much as the cart they are attached to lets them. Amy is grabbing onto Rory's arm tightly, but rushes to the Doctor's side when he starts to pat his robes down into position. Sitting at the front of the cart, a tan man with wavy long black hair and a bushy beard scowls down at them. 

“Where did you fools come from? And strutting right into the middle of the path! I could've run you over,” he berates them, gesturing with his only arm, and, while Amy bristles, the Doctor answers with a sheepish smile. 

“Our sincerest apologies, my good man. We were too excited by the prospect of our destination to hear your approach. If you could give us some directions, we will bother you no more,” he tells the stranger with a winning smile, straightening, and Rory can only think that he looks just like a politician. 

No surprises there, really. 

“Where could you three go to bear such cumbersome clothing? You are far indeed from any civilization, and you don't have any kind of transportation or pack. Not even a donkey,” the Roman asks, giving them disgusted looks, and Rory feels self-conscious again, trying to adjust the toga discreetly and wishing that he could wear the far shorter and more comfortable-looking one their Roman 'friend' is wearing. 

“Why, to Rome, of course!” the Doctor answers, completely unbothered by the unknown man's comment about their clothing or lack of transport. 

The Roman turns to him and lifts an eyebrow with a deadpan look. 

“Did you spend too long in the sun? There's nowhere called 'Rome' around these parts.” 

“Again!” Amy exclaims as the Doctor's face goes blank, turning to poke the alien with a scowl. “You got us to the wrong place _again._ Traveling with you is a bloody Odyssey.” 

“What did I get myself into?” Rory groans, dropping his face in his hands. 

“Now, Amy, no need for that language. We just need to know where we are, and then we can go back to the ship and be on our way,” the Doctor tries to placate with his politician voice, but Amy knows him well enough by now to huff and cross her arms. 

“Ship! You came on a ship? Which polis do you hail from? And how did you make it past the monsters?” the Roman—not a Roman, though, apparently—exclaims, startled yet with his sharp dark eyes glued to the Doctor, not letting a single detail escape. 

“Monsters?” the three of them repeat in surprise, confusion and dread, respectively. 

“Yes, the sea monsters besieging the island. Fishing boats can still go out, but none that dare journey to the mainland ever make landfall. And _you,_ whoever you are, are most definitely not from the island, barbarian or otherwise. No respectable man would dare dye his hair like a woman,” the Roman scoffs, the solemn tone from the beginning turning to derision, and Rory startles for a moment, reining in on his nerves, to realize he's glaring at the Doctor. 

“Dye? It's not dyed, he's just from the north,” the Doctor comments as he points at Rory, and Amy huffs in laughter even as Rory rolls his eyes. 

“I think he means _your_ hair, _blondie,”_ Amy retorts with a grin, plucking at the Doctor's hair, and Rory can't help but chuckle too at the indignation on his face as the realization dawns. 

“Me? I'm the _man_ he was talking about? Oh, that's _insulting._ Why does everyone think that?” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Amy asks playfully, but shakes her head to silence the Doctor when it looks like he'll start ranting. “Never mind your looks. Where are we?” 

“You're on the island of Sicily,” the not-Roman answers, straightening on his cart, and, as one, Rory and Amy turn to the Doctor with deadpan looks. “How could you not know that? Just where do you foreigners come from?” 

“The navigator is not the most reliable,” Rory deadpans before he can stop himself, earning an unimpressed look from the Doctor and a chuckle from Amy. 

“Ulysses here just doesn't know how to get to the right place or the right time. It takes him years to go anywhere,” Amy adds, tapping the Doctor's shoulder, who rounds on her with an indignant 'oi'. “Don't you give me that look! _It'll be just five minutes,_ you said. Remember that one?” 

“Not my fault.” 

“What about _I only meant to be away for half a day?”_

“Not my fault either.” 

“One month to answer a call?” 

“Nope, not that one either.” 

“Why did I ever agree to this trip?” Rory groans, dropping his head in his hands again, and the not-Roman on the cart hums softly, almost impressed. “Right, thank you for the information, uh…” 

“Eusthatios. And you can repay me for it with information of your own,” their new friend answers, getting Amy's and the Doctor's attention as well with his words. “Hop on. We shall go deliver the supplies to the Lady, and you can tell her how you evaded the monsters,” he orders, and, after exchanging a confused and interested look, Amy climbs onto the cart to sit by his side. “Not you two. The donkeys can't carry us all. You'll have to walk,” he adds when Rory shrugs and makes for the rear of the cart. 

Face falling, Rory looks at the Doctor as if expecting a solution, but the bloody alien simply shrugs his toga off to stand in his knee-length comfy off-white tunic instead. 

“Can we put these on the cart?” he asks, and, after Eusthatios nods, Rory quickly gets his own toga off too. “So, where exactly are we going?” 

“To the strait. The Lady has made her stand there with her soldiers, as it is from the strait that the monsters came from,” Eusthatios answers calmly, spurring the donkeys on, and Rory steps to the Doctor's side as they walk next to the cart, looking over the covered baskets and amphoras in it. “These are for the Lady and her soldiers. She's a survivor of the monsters, her and her daughter. Their ship was attacked not long after the monsters appeared, and she vowed to bring a stop to it. She recruited the young and strong boys of the village and brought them to her house on the strait, where she trained them to fight the monsters. The battle is still ongoing, and no ship has managed to get past them yet. Until yours.” 

“How long ago did these monsters appear?” Amy asks, and, this time, Eusthatios actually turns to her. 

“Almost a year ago. The Lady arrived but some weeks later, and, after she took the first soldiers with her, the monsters pulled back from the coast, allowing the fishermen out once more. It is a tenuous balance, but most often than not, the monsters are contained to the strait. Now, say, young lady, what is your name?” 

“Amy. And that one over there is Rory, my fiancé,” she answers with a smile, and Rory waves with a 'hi' and what he hopes is a grin rather than a cringe. 

“Your what now? Which land do you hail from, with such strange words? Your accent is as Cumaean as mine!” he exclaims with surprise, looking them over as if their faces could clue him in. 

And, think of it, how does _that_ work? The communicating thing, that is. Because, if this is Sicily in 750 BC, and judging by their new friend's comments, this means Eusthatios should be speaking Ancient Greek or something, but all Rory can hear is English. 

“My husband-to-be. Sorry, just a slip. You end up picking words here and there when you travel as much as we do,” Amy answers as innocently as she can, while Rory turns to the Doctor questioningly. 

“The TARDIS translates directly into your head. Who knows what language _fiancé_ sounded like to poor Eusthatios, though. Do you think it might have been Gaulish?” the Doctor answers with a shrug, quickly losing himself in his musings with a mocking grin. 

“Amy, Rory and Ulysses. To think the strangest of the lot would have the most sensible name,” Eusthatios snorts with a large grin, and the Doctor snaps out of his thoughts to glare at him before puffing up. 

“I'll take that as a compliment.” 

“Yeah, right, just… How long until we get to this Lady's house?” Rory asks, scanning the horizon to see nothing more than pines and yellowed grass. 

Eusthatios looks up at the sky with a hum. 

“Oh, about an hour.” 

Rory groans. 

* * *

Sitting comfortably on the cart while a bored Doctor and a winded Rory walk by their side, Amy finds that her previous smile at the new environment and her companions' funny expressions has long since disappeared, replaced by a myriad of thoughts swirling in her head. 

Eusthatios has told them a bit about his history, how he traveled with some others from the polis of Cumae to establish a new one here in Sicily a bit over two years ago. They named it Zancle, 'Scythe', after the harbor, which the Doctor told them is actually the city of Messina. Only, of course, he simply said that's how _they_ know of the area, to assuage Eusthatios' suspicions. The native Sicilians stay away from the Greeks, keeping to the center of the island, so, until a year ago, all was peaceful. And then, with a burst of fire and thunder in the middle of the night, the monsters broke out of their underground prison at the strait. The Lady appeared not long after, and they know the rest. 

So, now that he's done with his story, Eusthatios is silent, probably waiting for _their_ story, judging by the looks he keeps giving them. 

Amy, however, is more worried about her companions. Rory looks overheated, judging by his red face and the sweat on his forehead. The Raggedy Doctor, on the other hand, is completely unfazed. 

And that is what worries Amy the most. 

After the breakdown from this morning, Amy can't help but be worried. Sure, he looked better after letting all that out, and, once he'd processed Amy's request, he seemed to have pulled himself out of the dark pit of his memories, but still… 

A shower and some breakfast can do worlds of good, but they are no miracle cure. Amy suspects he has some makeup on, to hide the bags under his eyes and the sallowness of his skin, even with how fast he heals, but she's not sure how to approach the topic without triggering another episode. 

And his behavior… Kissing Rory just for kicks, no matter how much it annoys her, is something he would've done were he in his right mind, but Amy is sure this is not the case. She's afraid he's trying too hard to forget and move on, to hide away from his demons, and she fears the consequences of that. How hard will the next crash be if he continues on this manner? Is there _anything_ she can do to stop his acting, to get him to actually face the circumstances? He can't run forever, but Amy's not sure she wants to see what will happen when he stops. 

Maybe… Maybe this _will_ be good. Something completely unrelated, something simple, to take his mind off of the worst of their last adventure, to give him some more time to fully detach from his breakdown. Maybe, after this trip, he'll be able to look back to meeting River and her words and anything else that triggered him with more objectiveness. And, this time, at least they have a trained medical professional around. 

Now, the only thing left is to hope these 'monsters' aren't anything too complicated… Bah, who is she kidding? Greece and Rome were full of 'monsters' that turned out to be nothing. Giant one-eyed humanoids? Turns out, the cyclops were based on elephant skulls. Lions? Actual lions. Dragons? Crocodiles swimming across the Mediterranean from Egypt. And so on, so forth. So, nothing to worry about. 

Right? 

Of course, that's when they crest a hill and the Doctor tenses at the sight before them. 

Standing almost at the tip of the strait, with a wooden fence keeping a flock of sheep away from a building and what looks like a herb garden, stands a large mound of dark rock with a large door-like entrance blocked by a fluttering curtain, and with its walls covered by strange pale markings the likes of which Amy has never seen before. 

“There it is. The Lady's house.” 

“Bloody Hell. Is she a witch or something?” Rory asks breathlessly, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and earning a dark look from Eusthatios. 

“She's a Seer, blessed by Zeus himself. Her home wards away the monsters and guards the entrance to Tartarus, from whence they escaped. She shall chain them back down into it as soon as her soldiers defeat them, as per the Gods' instructions,” he explains, stopping the donkeys in front of the closed door in the fence, which the Doctor opens without prompting. “Every week, the people of Zancle put together any food or essentials either she or the soldiers might need, to support them on their fight, and I deliver it. My nephew used to come with me, to aid in one of the few tasks he wasn't abysmal at, but in his absence, you will unload the cart as repayment for the lift and any generosity the Lady might show you.” 

Rory looks crestfallen at that, while the Doctor is so focused on the house that he doesn't seem to hear the words, but Amy perks up. 

“You didn't say you had a nephew,” she comments, paying attention to the way he scowls and his offended sniff, trying to put them together like the Doctor does any clues he comes across. “Oh, you don't like him, do you?” 

“Useless is what he is. Cursed with twice the size of a man yet half of his abilities. But my brother, Philandros, he insisted the boy would find his place one day, and that his curse was rather a blessing of the Gods. His mother insists on that, too, but what good is he? Weak, tiring easily, always whining about something or other. We chose to move here after those accursed Carthaginian killed Philandros, hoping Zancle would give us new opportunities, but once a useless lump, always a useless lump,” he explains with a scoff, grabbing onto the stump where his arm used to sit before stopping the donkeys and hopping off the cart once they're in front of the door. “The Lady thought he would serve well in the ranks, and took him last week. I say good riddance.” 

“And I say good choice,” a soft and silky voice answers from inside the house a moment before the curtain is pulled back. “Welcome back, Eusthatios. Who are your companions?” 

Amy stares, standing now next to Rory and the Doctor, because the middle-aged woman stepping through the door can only be the famed Lady their new friend has been telling them so much about. 

Her hair is a rich black with the odd silver strand here and there, tied at the back of her head to fall over her back in thick braids. Her tunic is white, with baggy sleeves to her wrists and a vibrant purple toga, slightly longer than Eusthatios', wrapped around her torso and over her left shoulder. There are golden rings on her fingers, and she wears long earrings that almost reach her shoulders. Her skin is a beautiful caramel gold, and her eyelashes are so long and thick that Amy has trouble believing they're real. 

The most surprising thing of all, though, is that, despite Eusthatios telling them this Lady is a Seer, she's actually blind, her eyes milky yet focused eerily on them. 

“They're travelers I found on the road, come from a faraway land after many an erroneous landing. They came here by boat, which is why I thought to bring them to you. I was not aware the monsters were as weakened as to let boats arrive from lands unknown, my Lady.” 

“Curious story indeed, Eusthatios, for I was not aware of that either,” she muses softly, blind yet sharp eyes looking the time travelers over before softening as they turn in Eusthatios' general direction. “Please, hurry if you will with the supplies. There is much I must yet prepare for if my boys are to have a hearty meal waiting for them upon their return from the cliffs. Oh, no, not you, young man, you sound exhausted. What penuries have you endured to arrive to this place?” she asks, waving Rory closer before he can join Amy and the Doctor at the cart. 

“Uh, nothing much, really. I'm just not used to walking so much under this heat,” he answers awkwardly under the Lady's sweet yet too large smile, her blindness shielding her from Amy's glare. “It's much cooler where I'm from. I'm Rory, by the way. It's, ah, it's an honor, Lady, er…” 

“Lamia,” she answers in a whispered breath, taking a silky handkerchief from somewhere under her toga to wipe the sweat off of Rory's brow. “And I do understand your grievances with the weather. My native land is much hotter than this one, to the point I even feel cold some days. Alas, that is not for mortals to decide, but to endure, so the Gods may keep balance on the peoples of the world.” 

“The Lady Lamia hails from Libya, the land of deserts in the south,” Eusthatios explains as they put the last amphoras in the shed by the door, the inside of the house blocked by both the Lady's body and the curtain she pulled closed at her back. “Her talents have more than served our polis, though, and that is all that matters.” 

“I am more than glad to help, Eusthatios. Anything to keep my daughter safe,” the Lady answers, her rueful smile far more real than her previous polite one as her unblinking blind eyes turn to them, though Amy is more focused on the fact that she has _yet_ to pull away from Rory. 

“Yes, we're all really happy. I'm Amy, by the way. Rory's _wife,”_ she hisses perhaps a bit more confrontationally than she should, but it snaps Rory out of whatever trance he'd been put in by the Lady's voice and magic handkerchief, finally stepping away from her. 

The Doctor gives her a sharp grin and, even though she blushes, Amy only lifts her chin in answer. 

Enough with people trying to steal her fiancé! 

“Oh, child, no. You are not,” the Lady answers as she pockets her handkerchief, ignoring how Rory moves to their side, though her blind eyes stay on Amy as she speaks. “But you are blessed nonetheless. He has a strong heart, one that will not give up, one which will hold onto your love until the end of the world and beyond. Not even death will take the love out of his heart,” she adds calmly, and her smile turns sad even as Amy's blood grows cold. 

Is that a threat? A prophecy? A Classical Greek metaphor slash poetic comment that has no hidden secret messages? 

Judging by Eusthatios' surprise and the hint of pity in his eyes as he looks at Amy, it's clear which one _he_ believes it is. 

“Yes, well, that's what _love_ is,” Rory answers without a second thought, a bit unnerved but not intimidated, as he takes Amy's hand. “In sickness and in health, and all that,” he adds, more softly this time, and Amy smiles warmly at him. 

“Indeed. Love conquers all,” the Lady agrees with a nod and a beautiful smile, as if she's truly glad for Amy and Rory despite her previous creepy words, before she turns to the Doctor, until now listening quietly as he runs his hands over the symbols on the walls with a small frown. “No matter how many worlds must be destroyed,” she adds with her voice lowered almost to a hiss, and the Doctor _flinches._

“What? What was that?” 

“Silence will fall.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“The blinding light of the fake star heralds the end of time. One forgets, one remembers, one burns in a box. To save one life, to save one world, to save it all… the Doctor… must… _burn,”_ she whispers, walking so smoothly that it almost looks like gliding, until she's practically in the Doctor's face. 

Wide-eyed and holding his breath, the Doctor looks at the Lady, at her half-lidded blind eyes and sharp smile full of perfect pearly teeth – and snorts. 

Startled, the Lady pulls back, and the Doctor laughs, humorless but with no hint of madness, so Amy exchanges a confused look with Rory. 

“Oh, you're a lousy Seer, Lady Lamia,” the Doctor finally manages to say between chuckles, grinning widely. “You just predicted _the past._ Good for you.” 

The Lady huffs and straightens, but instead of scowling at the derisive words, she smiles sharply. 

“Nobody can truly say what the future will hold, my good… What is your name?” 

“Nobody,” the Doctor answers, looking down at her with amusement as her smile dims with annoyance. “And at least on _that_ I'll agree. Good day to you and yours, Lady Lamia. Watch out for snakes,” he bids her with a sharp grin, bowing and grabbing one of her hands to bring to his lips. 

“And good day to you and yours, Nobody. Watch out for your ship,” she answers with a smile as sharp as his, gracefully taking the kiss, and her blind eyes almost seem to _follow them_ as Eusthatios guides the donkeys out of the property before allowing them to get on the cart. 

When Amy looks back again, the Lady is gone. 

“What was _that_ about?” she asks the Doctor, who, with Rory, is now allowed to sit on the back, where the crates and amphoras were before. 

“Ever read the _Odyssey,_ Amy? That was Ulysses outsmarting the blinded Cyclops Polyphemus,” he answers with a shit-eating grin, and Rory buries his face in his hands for the umpteenth time that day. “And now is when things get interesting.” 

“… Why?” 

“Sheep.” 

And Amy throws her hands up. 

“Can you _not_ think about food for once in your life?” she asks tiredly, but the Doctor merely leans back on the cart and grins. 

“Maybe, but now I want to try some lamb Kleftiko.” 

“Insane, the lot of you,” Eusthatios mutters under his breath, but sitting as she is by his side, Amy hears him clearly. “What are you, monster hunters?” 

“Something like that,” Amy answers calmly, exchanging a grin with the Doctor while Rory and Eusthatios bemoan their luck under their breath. “What are we going to do with these sea monsters, Mister 'Nobody'?” 

“Why, Miss Pond, we will arrange a meeting, of course. But first, food!” 

* * *

“And here's the food,” their hostess announces, serving the last of the platters and finally taking her seat at the table. 

“Now _this_ is what I call a banquet!” the Doctor cackles, rubbing his hands as he looks at the dishes in front of them. 

Truth be told, Rory can't say he agrees. Some cucumber and olives, some kind of salad with what looks like cheese but no lettuce, bean soup with vegetables, some leaf-wrapped who-knows-what, sardines, skewers of goat meat, and white bread and wine to go with it all. There's variety, sure, but when he thinks about a 'banquet', there's usually a lot more meat involved, for starters. 

Eusthatios' sister-in-law, a beautiful middle-aged woman with wavy brown hair and olive eyes, serves them bowls of the soup with a smile. 

“Sly as the fox, Ulysses. If only I had had more warning of your arrival, I would have prepared a meal befitting of guests of your status,” she answers with a mischievous smile as she hands the Doctor his bowl, and he grins sharply in answer. 

“Nonsense! If you are not a Queen of Troy neither am I a King of Ithaca, oh Beautiful Helene,” he jokes _again,_ just as he has been doing ever since they introduced themselves and their hostess revealed her name. 

“Just ignore him. We're really grateful for dinner, Helene. And it smells amazing!” Amy tells the older woman with a grin, waving the Doctor's pout away like nothing. 

“Indeed. Thank you very much,” Rory adds with a smile, accepting his bowl and, after both the Doctor and Amy dig in, he does so too. 

Well. The food might look simple, but it is _tasty._ The Greeks sure know how to use their spices. 

“So, Helene, that son of yours…” the Doctor starts halfway through the meal, and the woman perks up with a smile. 

“Antiphates? Did you see him at the Lady's home?” she asks hopefully, and the travelers shake their heads while Eusthatios huffs. 

“The soldiers were at the cliffs when we arrived. I've told you, Helene, those boys spend most of their days at the cliffs with the Lady's daughter, keeping the monsters at bay,” he explains not unkindly, and Helene's smile dims but doesn't vanish. 

“So you have. But a mother can hope, Eusthatios,” she whispers, smiling at the table, before refocusing on the present and looking up at the Doctor. “My apologies, Ulysses. What was it you wanted to ask?” 

“Eusthatios told us your son, Antiphates, is twice the size of a man,” he comments, and Rory grimaces even as Amy, sitting by his side, pushes her elbow into the Doctor's ribcage. “Ow! What was that for?” 

“That's for being insensitive!” she hisses, and Helene's somber face lights up with a smile. 

“I wasn't! Look, I was just wondering, the boy just had some impressive growth spurs, didn't he? Only, instead of stopping, he just kept growing, am I right?” he asks, keeping his hands up to stop Amy if she decides to poke him again, but looking at the two Greeks, who, surprised, merely nod. “I've seen it before. How old is he now?” 

“Fifteen. He was always a big child, but these growth spurs only became obvious after he turned eleven,” Helene answers, still surprised but smiling easily, and, finally lowering his hands, the Doctor grimaces. 

And Rory straightens as he finally realizes what they're talking about. 

“Gigantism?” he asks the Doctor instead, who just nods to confirm his suspicions. “If he's fifteen, there might still be something that can be done. I mean, if it's a tumor—” 

“And how do you suggest we operate?” the Doctor asks with a pointedly lifted eyebrow, and Rory snaps his mouth shut when he realizes _when_ they are. “This is not one of your patients, Rory.” 

“Patients? What are you talking about?” Helene asks, even more confused than before, while Eusthatios gives them a suspicious and dark look. 

“I'm a, well, a _physician,_ you could say. I thought…” 

“There is nothing _wrong_ with my son,” Helene cuts when Rory goes silent, unsure whether to apologize or try to explain, and her voice is sharp and cutting like a blade. “He is merely young, not yet used to this gift of the Gods. He'll be remarkable, a hero for the ages. He will protect the island of Sicily against these sea monsters, and his name will be chanted for centuries to come.” 

“Or maybe not,” the Doctor adds almost nonchalantly, hands laced together in front of his face and ignoring the burning glares both Helene and Eusthatios send his way. “The boy is clumsy, tiring easily, not used to his large body. So, why would Lady Lamia, who is assembling an army to fight off dangerous sea monsters, take someone so obviously _not_ prepared for such a task? No matter what he's destined for, Helene, your son is _not_ a soldier. So, _why is he?”_

The Greeks stay silent for a moment, before Helene deflates and Eusthatios rests his remaining hand on her shoulder. 

“I told you, Helene. Antiphates is not a soldier. He will never be.” 

“But he wanted to. He wanted to help the polis, to help the family… And _you_ are always telling him he will never amount to anything!” she shouts, glaring at her brother-in-law, who, wisely, pulls away from her. “What was he to do when the Lady offered him such a chance? He's a poet, Eusthatios, not a warrior! But does that matter to you?” 

“Poetry won't put food on the table now that Philantros is gone!” 

“And with just one arm, what good are you?” Helene hisses, and Eusthatios jerks back as if slapped, while Amy and Rory can't help but stare at the train wreck that this conversation has become, unsure of how, or even if, they could intervene. “This is what it is all about, isn't it? You feel useless now, and so you think channeling your frustrations into my son will make it better. You think forcing him to become his father, or to become _you,_ is going to fix everything now that you can't fix it yourself! Well, it _won't!_ Pushing Antiphates to work harder in the fields or to become a soldier won't bring your arm or your brother back! If _I_ can accept my husband is gone, why can't you?” 

Silence falls over the table, awkward and tense, until Eusthatios pushes himself to his feet with a snarl. 

“I think tomorrow would be better,” the Doctor lets out before Eusthatios can do more than open his mouth, reaching for a leaf-wrapped thing and completely unbothered by all the eyes suddenly on him. “The donkeys will need some rest, and there's still some more investigating we can do around here. You said something about the fishermen being attacked in the beginning?” 

“What are you talking about now?” Amy asks, frowning in confusion, and Rory can't help but feel grateful that he's not the only one completely lost. 

“Antiphates is a big boy that has no potential whatsoever for war. The Lady's house is built on burnt land – did you see how tall the grass was on her property? – because that's where the monsters came from, but it's surrounded by _sheep._ What kind of animal would graze peacefully next to a monster's nest?” he asks with a growing sharp grin, biting into his snack and waiting until he's swallowed his mouthful to continue. “So, the Lady is hiding something.” 

“You told her to be careful of snakes,” Amy remembers, grinning when the Doctor nods. “This isn't the first time you've seen the designs on her house, is it?” 

“No, it isn't. I travelled to a kingdom of sea and sand years ago, where people worshipped the sun and the snakes, those of the sand and of the water. And _their_ ships were covered by those same designs, runes of protection for their travels,” he explains simply before popping the last of his leaf-wrap snack into his mouth. 

“You mean the Lady is an _alien?”_ Rory asks in disbelief, practically leaning over the table, and almost slaps himself when he hears Eusthatios snort. 

_Wrong time period, wrong time period!_

“Obviously. And so are you,” Eusthatios retorts with a scowl, while Helene gives them a confused look. 

“Please, excuse Amy's manservant. He hasn't been traveling long enough to lose the habit of calling everyone not of his land an _alien,”_ the Doctor deadpans, but the look he gives Rory is full of mockery. 

“Er, yes. That,” Rory says instead of the curse he would rather direct at the Doctor, because it's as good a save as he's going to get, and just because it makes him look like an idiot it doesn't mean it's not what he needed. “And did you seriously call me _Amy's manservant?_ That makes me sound like I'm her property,” he hisses at the Doctor nonetheless, because it's one thing to be made the fool and another to be made a _servant,_ no matter how large Amy's smile is behind the hand covering her lower face. 

“Aren't you? You have a ring to prove it, don't you?” the Doctor retorts and, before Rory can retaliate, he stands up and stretches. “Now, enough chin-wagging. I want to talk to those fishermen about these monsters of yours. The more we know about them, the easier it'll be to figure out what Lamia is up to.” 

“I'm coming with you,” Helene says before they can do more than stand up, surprising them all. “You're saying my son has been recruited for a false cause, aren't you? So, I'm coming with you. I may be a woman, but that will not stop me from keeping my child safe.” 

“Helene, what madness is this? The Lady has been protecting us! And her visions—” 

“Her visions have certainly been true, Eusthatios, but that may not mean her intentions are as pure. If there is even the slightest chance that my son may be in danger under her tutelage, I will do everything in my power to get him back,” Helene answers, straightening and glaring down at her incredulous brother-in-law. “Philantros would have done the same, as a father and as a soldier. What will you do?” 

For a moment, Eusthatios just stands there, stunned, before he finally composes himself enough to scowl. 

“And what makes you think she won't have foreseen this?” he asks moodily, but the way Helene smiles lets them know he has finally submitted. 

“What makes you think I care?” 

The only answer to those words is Amy's and the Doctor's sharp smirks. 

They help Helene put the leftovers away and clean the dishes, but in no time at all, they are at the docks, talking with the fishermen there, who are fixing their nets alongside their wives. 

“You came past the monsters?” one of them asks, scratching his curly graying beard and glaring up at them. “And now you're asking after them?” 

“Whatever bout of good fortune led us here might not see us leave safely. We'd rather be prepared,” the Doctor answers with his politician smile, but the fisherman and his buddies seem more interested in arguing about the likelihood of the monsters letting anyone through, and what that means for their nets. 

And the Doctor just stands there and _listens._

Rory is dumbfounded at the patience the alien exhibits, at the intensity in his gaze, taking every single detail in. He hardly looks like the semi-crazed Doctor who, cackling in glee, had coded a virus to turn all clocks to 0:00 hours on a mobile phone, or the terrifying being who had turned an alien's brain to mush, or the composed one who had stood up to the Atraxi and scared them away with three simple questions. 

He's not sure _what_ this Doctor reminds him of, or why it freaks him out so much, but he's sure Amy has an idea, judging by the way she analyzes the Doctor, as critically as Rory himself would any of his patients. 

Which is why Rory carefully grabs her arm to get her attention, and gestures to a spot further down the pier, away from the Doctor and the fishermen and their two hosts. 

Once they're sitting down at the end of the planks, feet hanging over the water, Rory finally turns to Amy. 

And stares. 

There are so many questions in his head right now that he has no idea which one to ask first. 

Fortunately, Amy always knows how to get him on track. 

“Come on, Rory, stop gawking and just say whatever's on your mind. Is it 'I told you so'? Or 'this is going nowhere'? Or 'what are we doing here'?” 

“What are we doing here?” he repeats, glad for the opening, and, as if by the pull of a string, all the pieces finally click in place. “I mean, he said this was supposed to be our wedding gift, only he miscalculated and we didn't land in Rome. I get that. And I get it's his job to investigate the monsters, but what are _we_ doing here?” he elaborates, gesturing between the two of them, and Amy huffs with a smile and an eyeroll. 

“Because he'd be lost without us. I'm serious, _never_ leave him alone,” she answers, her smile fading as if it had never been there. “He doesn't really _need_ us, not most of the time, but he needs something to focus on. _Someone_ to focus on, to remind him that he can do things differently.” 

“Differently how?” Rory asks cautiously, feeling unease pool at the bottom of his stomach even before Amy's expression drops. 

“In ways that don't involve… well. Anyone dying, in short,” she explains with a shrug, but Rory reaches for her shoulder, resting a hand on her skin to find it cold despite the sun overhead. “He likes to collect all the information, even if he knows what is going on, so that he can figure out the best way to deal with things. Only, he doesn't really know _which_ is the best way,” she adds softly before sighing and looking up, meeting Rory's eyes with a slightly lost expression. “Do you remember last Christmas?” 

“With his face being everywhere and the huge red planet that appeared out of nowhere?” he asks, barely stopping himself from adding something like _no, I can't say I remember that, there was nothing memorable about that,_ because Amy doesn't need it now and, if he wants some answers to shut up the part of his brain that is freaking out, Rory doesn't need that either. 

“Yeah, that one. _Never_ mention that, by the way, not to his face. But the thing is… Okay, we need a bit of a backstory for this,” she huffs, shrugging off Rory's hand so she can turn around to face him fully, crossing one leg in front of her while the other hangs over the pier, and Rory tries to mimic her stance. “All of those other Doctors we found while researching him, and all of those holes in history that _could have been_ a Doctor, those were actually him. Apparently, when a Time Lord is hurt badly enough, he can just change his face, his whole self, and keep on living.” 

“Like a phoenix? Born from its ashes and all that?” Rory asks, gawking a bit, but Amy's nod is solemn. 

“Yes, like that. Kind of, I just know the general facts. But the thing is, he does. The Doctor keeps on living with a different face, whole and healthy once more. He can't really choose the face, but he's still the Doctor. Or, at least, all of them were before the Raggedy Man.” 

“Wait, just a second,” Rory interrupts before she can get to her point, because, if he doesn't ask this now, he'll probably never will, and he _needs_ to ask it. “Does that mean he _wasn't_ Harold Saxon?” 

Amy hesitates. 

“I'm not sure about that one,” she finally answers, glaring at the water before looking up at Rory with a frustrated scowl. “He doesn't _talk_ about the past, and the few times he has it's because he was too hurt to really check his words, and it's _confusing._ Sometimes he acts like he _was_ Saxon, but then he says things like _the Doctor killed Saxon and I won.”_

“So… he wasn't?” 

“… I don't think so,” Amy finally says, slowly, enunciating every word, as she crosses her arms against her chest. “He said he didn't choose his face, and how he hadn't wanted to look like that. And he _was_ the Doctor, he defeated Saxon with this Time Lord trick of his – _extremely_ freaky, he can turn hopes into reality – and he _won_ and Saxon _died._ He's obviously not dead, so…” she explains with a shrug, still pouting and not too sure, but Rory's head is reeling once more. 

“He can do _what?”_

Amy startles, looking at him in confusion, before she registers her own words and gives him a gorgeous smile. 

“You should see your face. But yes, he turns 'faith and hope and prayer' into reality. Apparently, it's easier using the Archangel Network, but he just, I don't know, _channels_ all that hope into a different timeline to make the world _change_ around us. With Saxon, he said the Doctor became a vengeful Archangel, whatever that means. But the one time I've seen him do it, it was to bring us to the top of a crashed spaceship. We were cornered by Weeping Angels, and he could make the jump and bring some of us to the ship with him, but the others would be killed. So, instead, he told us to trust him and used that trust to bring together different timelines when he pulled different people up, so that they happened all at once and we all just _appeared_ atop the spaceship. It was really confusing,” she explains, and Rory can only nod dumbly because it _sounds_ really confusing and he's not sure he actually understands what happened. 

Which is why, a moment later, he shakes his head. 

“No, I don't get it. At all,” he tells Amy, who snorts with an eyeroll, before pushing that issue aside to focus on the present. “What you're saying is that he's way older, and far more terrifying, than we thought before. So, my question is, _why_ are we here with this psycho? What can we do that he can't?” 

“We care. And we can say 'no'.” 

Rory is silent after that, staring into Amy's eyes in search for something that will make her words clearer, but finds only determination and sadness. 

_We care._ But the Raggedy Doctor cares too. When Prisoner Zero had stolen Amy's form, Rory remembers his fear as he checked her vitals, but also the Doctor's eyes, full of dread and denial and _loss,_ and the dark anger that overtook them before he turned to Prisoner Zero. 

_“Poor Amy Pond. Still such a child inside. Dreaming of the magic Doctor she knows will return to save her. What a disappointment you've been.”_

_“I know. And that's why I won't fail again. I'm not losing anyone again,_ ever _again. Release her.”_

The Raggedy Doctor cares. 

_“One more question then. I'm sure you know you aren't the first aliens to come here with your over the top threats and 'thou shalt obey mine demands' and all of your 'mightier than thou' spiel. I mean, you are monitoring all communications, have access to every single database on Earth, so you must be aware of that fact. So, here's my last question. What happened to them?”_

He cares so fiercely, so _much,_ that he's willing to destroy an alien's brain or do something so horrible that a whole army runs away at the slightest sign of the Doctor's displeasure. 

_And we can say 'no'._ That one, Rory has to think twice as hard to decipher, but soon enough realizes he may have an idea of what it is about. Because, when berating the Atraxi for their threatening to burn down Earth, the Doctor had said that Earth was important because of the people living in it, but also because of the timelines 'riding on the integrity of the planet', and their ties to something as alien as the Atraxi. 

So, maybe his 'job' as a 'monster hunter' is more than a joke. 

He could've captured Prisoner Zero to save his own skin, because he was on Earth at the time and would've been incinerated alongside everyone else, but the Doctor hadn't done just that. He'd called the Atraxi back and chased them away from Earth for good, put the fear of God—of the Doctor, actually—in their bodies, and made sure Earth was safe from at least one alien race for the rest of their lives. He didn't have to do that, but he'd done it. 

And now, he's talking to some Greek fishermen about sea monsters, listening attentively for any clues as to how to solve the problem, when it would've been as simple as to go back to the TARDIS when they realized they weren't in the right time period and simply leave. 

Sure, Rory wouldn't have been able to, even if he has no clue about fighting sea monsters, because he's a _nurse._ He cares about people, it's in his job description, and it's the reason he chose this job to begin with. Amy wouldn't have just left either, because that's who Amy is, caring and strong and willing to fight the monsters to keep people safe. 

And, apparently, that's who the Doctor is too. Someone who fights the monsters because it's his job, and someone whose job is to fight the monsters because he _chose_ it. 

And yet… 

“What do you mean?” Rory asks, and Amy looks away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. 

“He's the last of the Time Lords. They kept time safe, the past and the future and all that, and that means getting rid of anyone who would try to unbalance it. Apparently, history can change without problem, but if it changes too much, they need to stop it. Like, he said it doesn't matter who won World War II, but if there were aliens in the mix, he needed to stop it. Or it doesn't matter if almost the whole of the UK dies in the twenty-ninth century, as long as some specific people live on. But anything else, he has to stop it, even if he doesn't want to. He's _the last of his people._ He doesn't want to go around fixing our mistakes, but he can't not do it,” she explains sadly, holding tight to Rory's hands when he grabs onto hers, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “There was a war, between the Time Lords and this race of alien-robot things called the Daleks, and both of them were supposed to have been destroyed. But they weren't. We went to London in 1941, and the Daleks were there and he just… He snapped. He wanted to destroy them, to avenge his people and protect the universe – the Daleks could destroy planes with just one shot, it was horrible – but the moment the Daleks threatened the Earth he just… He had to stop. He had to come back to defuse the bomb and the Daleks escaped. He _had_ to. Even after getting shot twice, and with one of his two hearts stopped and a lot of internal damage and his hand so… He still had to come back to Earth,” she explains softly, looking down, and Rory swallows the lump of dread blocking his throat, finally realizing where those scars he noticed before had come from. “He just wants the pain to stop. He tried to save his planet but it was destroyed. He tried to save his people, but he ended up with his best friend dying in his arms. He blames himself _so much_ for it, Rory. He keeps saying he destroyed his planet and killed his people, and that he hurts everyone he ever comes in contact with. Like this girl, Martha, who got stuck with another of his faces in 1969,” Amy whispers, taking in a deep breath before she can look up again. “I think that, whatever happened last Christmas, it was so horrible that he convinced himself he wasn't worthy of being called the Doctor anymore. The Doctor is the man who makes people better, and he didn't do the things the Raggedy Doctor did. Whatever happened last Christmas…” 

“Whatever happened, he blames himself for it. If he called himself the Doctor, made people better, then maybe…” Rory starts, hesitating, but a squeeze of Amy's hands around his and her expectant gaze convince him to finish that thought. “Maybe that red planet didn't vanish. Maybe it was destroyed,” he finishes with a whisper, and Amy's eyes go almost impossibly wide. “To protect Earth, maybe even the whole universe, he had to kill a whole planet, or let them die.” 

“You mean he was serious? About destroying his own planet, his own people?” Amy asks in a whisper, and Rory's brain goes blank. 

“Well, I mean, I don't know? I just… I'm a _nurse._ I'd feel like I don't deserve to be one if I killed even a single person, even if it was to save another,” he babbles, though he grows somber as the words and their implications dawn. “I don't know what I would do if it was a whole planet,” he whispers, and looks up again to meet Amy's eyes with an unvoiced question caught in his throat. 

Rory would _never_ kill anyone, it just isn't in him. But to keep his parents safe, to keep _Amy_ safe… Well, he might be very close to doing something stupid, to keep them safe and sound. But he still can't grasp what would bring him to do something as horrible as _destroying Earth,_ or letting it be destroyed, even if… even if it would save Amy. Could he let a whole planet die just for her? And could he let a whole planet die _including Amy,_ to save the rest of the universe? 

… If the universe goes, so does Amy. But would it be a universe worth living in _without_ Amy? 

“What thoughts ail you?” Helene asks as she approaches them, a small sad smile on her lips, and both Amy and Rory startle, not having noticed her. “You seem to be considering the fate of the world rather than some sea monsters besieging a single polis. Surely there are far bigger issues for people such as yourselves, who have traveled far and wide, to concern yourselves with, rather than the fate of such a small settlement barely two years old.” 

“Don't say that!” Amy protests, climbing to her feet with Rory following almost immediately after. “Everyone is important, no matter how small the town or few the people. The Doctor will fix things, he'll defeat the monsters and figure out what is going on with Lamia. Trust him,” she adds with determination fueling every single word, firm and unbending, and Rory can't help but admire her from a moment, with her red hair swaying in the breeze and the fire in her eyes and the ocean in the background. 

God, she is just so _amazing…_

“Doctor?” Helene repeats, turning to Rory, who smiles sheepishly before pointing at where the Raggedy Doctor seems to be arguing with Eusthatios. 

“I may be a nu— _physician,_ but _he_ is the Doctor. He just doesn't go by that,” he answers simply, hoping she doesn't ask, but after a moment to look over her shoulder, Helene's smile turns sad and _understanding._

“A doctor turned soldier. No, he certainly would not take that name. The Oath is a promise to care for the patient, and to not deliver death even if it is asked. One of my brothers took such an Oath when he became a doctor, and he has told us many times of the struggle it is to see someone beyond help and be unable to stop their suffering. He says it is a reason to push himself to be better, to find more cures so that no one needs to feel as if they have no choice but death. For a doctor to become a soldier, they may very well lose their name instead.” 

Amy and Rory exchange a wide-eyed look of realization before turning to Helene, waiting patiently for them to put their thoughts in order, with hesitation. 

“Why would you think he's a soldier?” Rory asks after a moment, while Amy looks away with a sigh. 

“It is obvious, isn't it?” Helene asks simply, turning to Amy, who hesitates for a moment before nodding with a sheepish smile. 

“You should see him in armor.” 

“I am sure he cuts quite the figure. And with his hair, why, he might very well be a demigod! Although, I would have thought a demigod would be taller,” Helene muses, and Rory chokes on his breath, caught between laughing and trying to vehemently deny anything that might suggest the Doctor is not human. 

Amy has no such compulsions, though, laughing freely. 

“Oh, you have no idea how right you are. But don't tell him that, his ego is big enough as it is.” 

The two women laugh once more, and, tension diffused, Rory decides to just sigh and let them talk about their things, joining the Doctor and Eusthatios to see what they've found out, and hoping his blush will disappear if he wills it to do so hard enough. 

“Do I want to know?” the Doctor asks as soon as Rory is by their side, glancing at the two women following him with mischievous smirks on their faces, Helene far more composed than Amy, and Rory just shakes his head. “Right. _Anyway,_ we got enough information, so we might as well go back to the house, get some sleep, and visit the Lady in the morning,” he adds with a grin, clapping his hands, and earning a glare from Eusthatios. 

“So sure of yourself, aren't you, little man?” Eusthatios huffs, but doesn't say anything about the Doctor's declaration about them staying at his house, starting the walk back instead. “Monster hunter you may be called, but never before have I seen anyone as lost as yourself and your entourage.” 

Amy and Rory protest almost in unison, but the Doctor is beaming away like a child. 

“It's nice to be recognized, isn't it?” he asks them with a shit-eating grin, mischief in his eyes. 

“We're _not_ his entourage!” Rory protests, torn between offended and long-suffering, while Amy returns the Doctor's grin. 

“We're his babysitters. Aren't we, _little man?”_

“Oi! Since when do we do the short people jokes?” 

“Since you start to tell people we're your 'entourage'.” 

“I didn't say that!” 

“You said nothing against it!” 

“Is it always like this?” Helene asks Rory softly with a grin on her face, watching in amusement as Amy and the Doctor argue, though their eyes are alight with laughter. 

“I'm starting to think so,” Rory answers with a sigh, rubbing his eyes and dropping his shoulders as he feels the excitement of the day finally catch up with him. 

He can only hope tomorrow's 'confrontation' will be far less exciting than the hunt for Prisoner Zero two years ago… 

But as he watches Amy engulf the Doctor in a hug despite his protests, grinning widely, Rory realizes that it doesn't matter how messy tomorrow ends up as. If they are together, it'll be okay in the end. 

* * *

Amy shares Helene's room for the night, but Koschei and Rory find themselves sleeping on blankets on the kitchen floor. Well, Rory is sleeping on twice the given number of blankets, since Koschei doesn't really need the sleep and so has relocated outside. 

The night is clear, uncountable stars shining overhead, while some crickets serenade the small and silent polis of Zancle, and a soft breeze brings coolness up the hills from the sea, alongside the rumor of waves on the beach. Bats swoop overhead every now and then, attracted by the moths that flutter outside the houses, far less numerous now that all lights have been put out. 

It's peaceful in its simplicity, without technology or planes or even electricity, and worries far more important and primal than whether the alarm clock will ring in the morning. 

Koschei takes in one more deep breath, closing his eyes this time to let the faraway whisper of the waves and the crunching of hay as the sleeping donkeys shift in the barn wash over him. 

“It reminds me of your place,” he whispers, eyes still closed, and, as— _hoped—_ expected, hears a soft huff at his side. 

“What about a seaside village reminds you of the snowy slopes of the tallest mountain on Gallifrey?” Theta asks, incredulous yet also with curiosity in his voice, and Koschei lets his head fall back against the wall of the house with a grin on his face, eyes still closed. 

“The stillness. The fledershrews swooping overhead, chasing after beatitudes. The murmur in the background, so like the blue hunter horns swaying in the breeze, waiting for the unwary lizardflies to go nearer. The sleepy presence of people so close, and yet so far…” 

“Are you saying you miss _my family?”_

“I'm saying I miss _your land,”_ he hisses back, opening one eye to deliver a lazy glare to the widely-grinning ghost at his side. “Not that I don't miss old Mount Perdition, too, but there was always something about Mount Lung that just felt… different,” he explains more calmly, a small smile twisting his lips as he lets the memory come to the front of his mind. 

Leaning on the balustrade just after the sunsets, their glow reflecting on the violet clouds but no longer obscuring the Citadel Globe, which had just started to light up like a magnificent beast slowly awakening from its slumber. The Academy, sitting at the feet of the mountain, spreading out like a silent sentinel, guarding those seeing it from above yet somehow appearing welcoming, arms open to accept any that might approach it into its warm embrace. The mountains' shine dulling without the suns, but the vibrant blue of the hunter horns was only more visible for it, the flowers swaying and occasionally shooting out their tiny darts to reel in the lizardflies that approached them from the air, attracted by the insects feeding on their nectar. A couple of beatitudes float into his face, golden pot-bellied bodies already stuffed with the evening nectar, the first of their siblings to take flight as they digested it into helium, but with such luck that a stray gust of wind sent them into the Great House rather than further out into the fields. 

Laughter, just before a hand landed on his shoulder to keep him still while the other carefully cupped around the beatitudes now tangled in his hair, gently tugging them off him and letting them float back to the fields unharmed. 

Copper eyes alight with humor meet his at eyelevel now that he has straightened from his slouch, thanks to their owner's position sitting on the balustrade instead of standing on the balcony. 

An eyeroll, more laughter, and, as one, both Gallifreyan look at the horizon to see the oranges and blues of the sky meld into purples and greens and indigo blue as the stars slowly take their places overhead. 

A shoulder nudging into his own, shivering as the wind shifts to come from above, carrying the chill of the atmosphere-scrapping peak, alongside the faintest smell of gray snow, diluted so much by distance that the hallucinogenic in it has no effect on them. He throws an arm around his companion's shoulders nonetheless, pulling the slighter body close without regard for the squeal of surprise or the sudden amount of weight crashing into his chest as his friend loses balance on the banister. 

This time, he is the one to laugh, and, after a moment to pout up at him, Theta wraps her hands around his arms and relaxes in his embrace, chuckling as they watch the night fall on Gallifrey. 

“It felt like home,” Koschei whispers, finally opening his eyes to let the memory fade like smoke from an extinguished candle, traces of it lingering for but a moment before the Sicilian night replaces them. 

“Probably because we spent almost as much time there as we did in the Academy,” Theta hums casually, also staring at the stars even as he tilts his head with a grin. “Remember all those times trying to climb to the peak? Or those escapades with Ushas and Mortimus and everyone else?” 

“Yeah, before we were split into different Chapters and focused on our studies,” Koschei answers with a hum of his own, nostalgia fueling his own grin. “Then, it was just the two of us.” 

“Only because that was my House. Imagine if I'd come from Heartshaven – we would've had to spend all of our time at the Academy grounds.” 

“Oh, the horror,” Koschei deadpans, going as far as to drop a forearm over his eyes, but doesn't try to hide his smirk at the amused huff from his companion. 

“Yes, I'm quite sure you wouldn't have survived our education without escaping to the Great House of Lungbarrow, dragging me after you practically every quarternight so that our brains could rest from all of the boring numbers and useless facts, going on adventures of our own on the slopes of Mount Lung so we could be prepared for our time off world as proper Time Lords,” Theta recites almost solemnly, and Koschei finally breaks down into a giggling mess, pressing his hand against his mouth to muffle his laughter and avoid waking up the humans in the house at his back. “Or, no, wait, it was me dragging you away from the Academy, wasn't it?” 

“Of course it was you. You could never sit still for anything you weren't interested in. How many remedial lessons did I have to give you? And how many afternoons did you drag me away from the Academy only to have Braxiatel drag us _back_ when you couldn't answer his impromptu quizzes properly?” he asks with a sharp grin, and, owing to his status as a ghost, Theta doesn't bother muffling his laughter. 

“Oh, a lot! But we always found a way out after that.” 

“Right, because that's the lesson to take of that situation, how to escape from your own Academy in the middle of the night,” he answers sarcastically, rolling his eyes, and Theta leans towards him to push his intangible shoulder into Koschei's. 

“As if you didn't use those skills later on. Against _me,_ might I add.” 

“Right back at you.” 

And they snort almost in unison and look up at the stars again. 

It only takes a couple seconds before the amicable air between them sours, though, with Koschei turning to meet Theta's sad eyes. 

“Don't you dare pity me,” he growls, and the ghost pushes away with a sad smile. 

“I'm actually pitying _myself,_ if that makes any sense. Here I am, nothing more than a psychic echo of a dead Time Lord who still believes itself the actual Time Lord, trying to help you move on with half as much success as I would like, if any, and only making things worse. How pathetic can I be?” 

“No more pathetic than _me,_ who talks to the psychic echo of my dead best enemy which may not be an echo at all, but a figment of my imagination instead,” Koschei sighs in answer, looking at the fists clenched on his lap before releasing their grip with another sigh. “I just… I'm not you.” 

“Of course you're not.” 

“I'm not the Doctor.” 

“Nope, definitely not.” 

“Then _why_ do they keep calling me that? I keep telling them that's not me, but they still…” 

Koschei wants to scream, to rage, to punch through walls and scorch the land, but the only thing he finds himself capable of doing is lift his hands just to let them drop to his lap again, spent. 

And sigh. _Again._

“Well, I can't presume to know, Doctor ghost or memory or whatever I'm supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure you can fix it by explaining the whole story,” Theta answers with a shrug, and Koschei stills. 

For a moment, there's no other sound than the waves in the distance and the bats overhead. 

And then, in unison, both Theta and Koschei _sigh._

“Right. Forget I said anything,” the ghost whispers with a shrug, curling into himself, and Koschei _almost_ reaches for him, to pull him against his side, before he remembers Theta is not actually there. 

How can you explain something like that? How can you just look someone in the eyes and— 

It's not just the Doctor's death, it's Gallifrey and the Time War and the drums and a lifetime of history. How could anyone do it? How could anyone just… 

“Someday. Someday I'll… find a way,” Koschei manages to say, swallowing the lump in his throat, and sees Theta lean against his side from the corner of his eye. 

“I couldn't talk about the Time War either. Not at first. But someday, you'll be able to. Don't give up,” Theta tells him calmly, final, but instead of disappearing like Koschei has learnt to expect, he stays by his side. 

They should talk. Even if Theta is not real, not the actual Doctor, he may still be able to help Koschei with his-his _issue._ He could, at the very least, bounce ideas off of him, get a different perspective. River's words, and what they mean for him, and the whole _Rassilon-damned future—_

They should talk. Now it's the perfect time for it, alone as they are, even if there are humans sleeping just a wall away. The TARDIS would be better, definitely more private, but this would work too. 

And yet, they don't. Koschei stays silent, and so does Theta, and they simply stare up at the stars. 

Because, maybe now more than any other time before, Koschei is _afraid._ And, when he's afraid, he runs. 

So, Koschei runs from the future he fears, and Theta, in true Doctor fashion, runs from any problems even remotely personal too. 

And, even though they should, they don't talk. Koschei tells himself that they'll do once they're in the TARDIS, in a more private setting, but he can taste the lie in his own thoughts as soon as the idea crosses his mind. 

He knows he'll avoid this for as long as he can, and, for that same reason, he knows he should tackle it as soon as possible. 

But here and now, he won't. He'll talk with Theta about River and the future and the- _the Doctor,_ but not now. 

Later. Yes, they'll talk later. 

Decision made, Koschei lets out a tremulous breath and, when he closes his eyes and leans towards Theta, he can almost convince himself there's someone actually there. 

* * *

Rory is pretty sure he'll never ride a horse ever again, both because it's not a thing they need to do in Leadworth and because he'll just need to think back to this experience to know why he _shouldn't._

“I think my bottom fell asleep. Or something,” he grumbles under his breath, and the Doctor, riding in front of him, snorts in amusement. 

They woke up at the crack of dawn and got some breakfast consisting of nuts and cheese and fruits, but unfortunately, no coffee. They had been mostly quiet, lost in their own thoughts, with even the Doctor looking somber despite the previous day's cheerfulness and confidence on his knowledge. 

Rory would have taken it as a premonition of sorts, if not because he was too busy trying to wake himself up without the aid of some coffee to think past _grab food, eat food._ One never knows what he has until he loses it, and Rory promised himself he would never take coffee for granted again. Even _tea_ would be better at this point, despite the fact Rory prefers coffee in the mornings and tea any other time. 

He never knew he could miss home so much until that moment, sitting at an Ancient Greek table. The mystique was lost. Woe was Rory, coffee-less and about to face alien sea monsters. _Without coffee._

Things had improved when they got ready to leave, though, with one of the other polis women showing up to their door with two horses. She was a noblewoman whose husband had stayed at Cumae to oversee the trade, and she had moved to Zancle to start their own trading post here, taking their two boys with her. 

“It is one thing to fight for honor and the polis, but to fight for a fake cause? I will not have my heirs waste their time playing soldier when they could be learning the trading arts,” she had sniffed, nose in the air, and Helene had smiled in amusement but also grateful. 

Eusthatios had taken one of the horses, with Amy sitting at his back, while the Doctor had taken the second with Rory as his 'package'. Rory had thought about protesting at first, but since neither he nor Amy know how to ride a horse, hadn't bothered with it. 

The first half hour had been quiet, but now that Rory is finally more awake, thanks to all the bouncing atop the horse and the sun shining on his head—and feeling grateful for the wide-brimmed straw hats he and Amy are wearing—he can give voice to his thoughts. 

“So, what's the plan?” he asks, deciding to go for something simple, and sees both Eusthatios and Amy turn to them from atop their own horse, interested. 

“According to the fishermen, there are either one sea monster or many, depending on if all the heads belong to the same beast or each of it is their own creature,” the Doctor explains without turning back, and Rory realizes this is the first time he hears anything about what the monsters are like. 

“How many heads are we talking about?” he asks warily, gripping the Doctor's tunic tighter in unease. 

“Anything between four and eight, but I'm pretty sure it's actually six.” 

“The monsters are mostly around the strait, using the whirlpool to force the ships to angle towards them. The number of heads change according to how big the boats are,” Eusthatios explains, and, at his back, Amy's eyes go wide as she tightens her grip around him. “Everything alright?” 

“There's a whirlpool? You said nothing about a whirlpool before,” she points out, and there's something in her eyes that makes Rory wish he knew more about Greek mythology. 

“It is the result of the monsters escaping their prison. The sea rushes into the Tartarus, and is expelled not long after,” Eusthatios answers with a shrug, but Rory tries to look at the Doctor to see if he shares his opinion. 

Unfortunately, sitting at his back as he is, he doesn't manage to see anything of use. 

“ _Anyway,_ we're talking about the Lady Lamia, her daughter, and the boys they took from the polis. So, one monster with many heads, but maybe two,” the Doctor adds, tilting his head in a way that Rory suspects is a result of him rolling his eyes. “I've seen creatures like those before. Only one of the heads is an actual head, the rest are appendages, like arms, which look like the head to distract predators but can act like claws to catch prey. That's why people who know no better think they're heads.” 

“Are we talking about a Hydra here? You know, cut one head and two more grow in its place?” Amy asks with a frown, and Eusthatios' incredulity turns, just for an instant, to dread. 

“No, nothing like that,” the Doctor answers with a dismissing wave, and Eusthatios deflates in relief. “They can regrow the fake heads, but they don't get any extra ones, and it takes them time.” 

“And you think there is just one of them?” Rory asks, trying to make sure of that while attempting to figure out which part the Lady plays in all of this. 

Are these monsters her pets? Weapons? Lackeys? 

“Maybe two, didn't you listen? The Lady Lamia and her daughter,” the Doctor tells him with a scoff, going so far as to twist around to deliver a deadpan look. 

Rory glares back, insulted – before his words finally make it through his head. 

“Wait, _the Lady_ is the monster?” 

“What nonsense are you talking about now?” Eusthatios protests at almost the same time, but the Doctor glares them both down. 

“I said _maybe!_ Learn to pay attention,” he scolds them, and, knowing better than to anger the alien, Rory shuts up, though Eusthatios keeps glaring. “I don't think the Lady is the monster, though she may have something to do with it. _As I said,_ Laestrygonian revere the snake, so it could be that the monsters didn't break free, but were _brought_ here by the Lady when she arrived.” 

“Her ship was destroyed by the monsters! The Lady Lamia is fighting them back to protect her daughter,” Eusthatios scowls, looking about ready to turn the horse around, and Amy and Rory exchange a look. 

How do you explain aliens to someone from Ancient Greece? 

“Have you ever seen that daughter of hers?” 

And Eusthatios opens his mouth – and stops, hesitating. 

The Doctor smirks. 

“Thought so.” 

“I think we need more explanation than that, Raggedy Man,” Amy points out after a moment of silence, while Eusthatios tries to wrap his mind around the Doctor's theory and Rory tries _not_ to think about how a human-looking alien could be related to a multi-headed sea monster. 

“Family is not made exclusively of blood. If you take someone in, under your protection, they can become family, regardless of species,” the Doctor explains softly, and there's a tension in his body that wasn't there before when he meets Amy's eyes for a brief moment before turning away. “The Lady wants to protect her daughter, that much is true. But if her daughter was _not_ human, how could she do so without someone else killing her first? So, she took in anyone who could pose a threat to her, all of the strong young men of the polis, and fashioned them into her 'army'. The monsters pulled back after that, showing that what she was doing was working, so who would doubt her? And what you said to Helene, about the boys always being at the cliffs when you deliver the goods… When was the last time you saw any of them?” he asks Eusthatios, firmer and more composed, but the Greek doesn't meet his eyes, clenching the reins in his hand and grimacing at the horse's mane. “Antiphates too. He may not have been a soldier, but he was big. If the boys spend all their time with the Lady's daughter, that could very well mean—” 

“Don't say it,” Eusthatios cuts, scowling but not as uneasy as Amy and Rory look. “I can figure that one out myself.” 

And, without another word, he ushers the horse past them, taking the lead. 

Rory stays quiet after that, processing the fact that all of those kids, young men, from the polis might have been fed to a sea monster, and grimaces. It is one thing to die protecting their people, like the noblewoman had said, but to be sacrificed like lambs? 

“Do you really believe that?” he asks the Doctor softly, despite the distance between the two horses making it hard for Eusthatios and Amy to hear them anyway. 

“Everything points to it. It would be stupid to dismiss something just because I don't… Just because I don't _like it,”_ he hisses, tense once more, and Rory deflates. 

“Just what, exactly, are we up against?” he finally asks, knowing from the conversation with Amy that it doesn't matter how much Rory wishes they could just leave and let history run its course, the Doctor can't allow anything alien to interfere with it. 

“Laestrygonian. They're a race of reptiles from the planet Laestrygon, with four eyes, five head-like arms, and tentacles making up their lower bodies. They look a bit like snakes, if you don't mind the extra bits, and are amphibious. Their planet is half desert and half ocean, and they are completely at ease in both. The Lady's house looks just like one of their spaceships, half buried in the soil, so I'm guessing a party crash-landed here about a year ago, probably killed everyone but the Lady and her daughter. By the time they had taken the lay of the land, the Lady put on a perception filter and showed herself to the natives, appearing like a benevolent entity here to defeat the monsters. Young Laestrygonian are ravenous, the daughter wouldn't have survived long if restricted by a human lifestyle. As a sea monster, however, she can hunt her own food, but she needs Mommy Dearest to protect her. According to the number of heads the fishermen reported, the Lady might have hunted with her too, at the beginning, or there might have been a third Laestrygonian, but if we believe the latest sights, there's just the one now. Seeing how the Lady is mostly in human guise, my bet is on two in total.” 

Rory takes that in, musing over the species' requirements and the mention of a crash-land, and tries to push wariness down. 

“So, if they came here by accident, you could just fly them back to their planet in the TARDIS, right?” 

“I could,” the Doctor answers simply, but Rory tenses, dreading the answer to his next question. 

“But what about… What about all the people they killed? The men they took from the polis?” 

“… That's why we're going to talk first. Earth is a Level 1 planet right now. Depending on the state of their ship, they could have found an alternative. If they sent an SOS, their laws will protect them, so it will be up to the Laestrygonian authorities to deal with them. If they could but they didn't… Well, that changes things. And if they _didn't_ crash-land, but chose to turn Sicily into their breeding grounds – not unheard of when a planet gets too crowded or caught in some kind of conflict – they will have to pay the price for their transgression.” 

“And what price is that?” Rory asks before he can think better of it, but this time, the Doctor doesn't answer. 

Right. Judging by the Atraxi's reaction to the Doctor, Rory is pretty sure he doesn't want to know, anyway. 

He can only hope they don't _need_ to figure that one out. Crash-landing, broken transmissions, anything of the like, he's sure they can deal with. If it goes beyond that… 

Yeah, well. Rory doesn't want to know. 

Which is why he decides to stay silent until they get to the strait, musing over how his life has turned to _this,_ and finally admiring the landscape now that he's not forced to walk under the scorching sun. 

The Lady's house is still as alien and foreboding as the first time he saw it, though. He still notices what the Doctor pointed out the day before, about the lush herb garden and the grass growing taller inside the fence. The sheep, however, are nowhere to be seen, and Rory feels the Doctor tense when he too notices that, pulling the reins to stop the horse where they are, atop the hill. 

“Eusthatios. There's something wrong,” he calls, voice carrying without the need to shout, but the Greek has also halted his horse, who, still ahead of theirs, is puffing nervously, ears swiveling. 

“The monsters must be closer to the strait,” Eusthatios comments as he turns the horse back to their side, and Amy and Rory exchange a look. “I knew the Lady would have foreseen this. Her visions, if anything, have always been true.” 

“Always?” the Doctor asks, voice piercing, and Eusthatios grimaces. 

“Mostly. You can't expect a Seer to be always certain, not when the messages from the Gods are vague and difficult to understand.” 

“That's better. I'd actually worry more if she was _always_ right,” the Doctor huffs before getting off the horse. “Come on. Let's see what she's going to do now.” 

“Hold it right there!” Amy calls as she hops off the horse before Eusthatios can, quickly moving to where the Doctor is tying their mount to the trunk of a nearby pine tree. “We can't just walk up to her when she knows we're here. She could let that monster loose on us!” 

“But if she's actually a refugee, we can't _not_ give her a chance,” Rory points out, getting off the horse and turning to the Doctor, who gives him a nod. 

“But the boys—” 

“One chance,” the Doctor interrupts Eusthatios, who is glaring at him from the tree he's tying his own horse to. “We give her one chance to explain what is going on here. And then, if she is not lying, we deal with it.” 

“And how, exactly, do you plan to do so?” the Greek asks, scowling, but the Doctor ignores him, turning around and walking towards the house. 

Rory steps next to Amy, and, squeezing her hand, they follow. 

A moment later, growling under his breath, Eusthatios grabs the short sword he'd strapped to the saddle and follows, awkwardly tying it around his waist with his one hand. 

“You should have left that,” Amy rebukes once he finally gets to their side, frowning disapprovingly. “Ulysses can deal with it without any weapons involved.” 

“I don't trust your friend's methods, Lady Amy. A man's words are nothing without actions to back them, and monsters won't killed by words alone,” he huffs, glaring at the back of the Doctor's head but going ignored. 

“Maybe we don't _want_ to kill this monster,” Rory points out, remembering the comment about the crash-landing and hoping it is thus. 

“Wise words from a wise man,” the Lady's voice cuts through any rebuke Eusthatios could offer, and they freeze just before the fence's door. “Love shall bring you past the evils that would break a warrior's resolve,” she adds, stepping out of the house, but unlike the day before, she's not alone. 

There's another woman with her, head and upper face hidden behind a white shawl, but what little skin is visible is the same caramel gold as the Lady's, and with no wrinkles. The daughter, likely. 

The reason Rory gulps is the large armored figure who follows them, clad in off-white leathery armor, Roman style, over cracked pale skin, as if covered by some kind of dried mud, and with the face completely hidden behind a blank faceplate with only slits for eyes. 

“Antiphates,” Eusthatios whispers, and Rory chances a quick look to see him scowl with disappointment in his eyes. “Even when he tries to be a warrior, there's not even a knife on him.” 

More figures follow, all of them men and clad in the same kind of pale armor and faceless helmets, but of a more normal size. They fan to the sides while Antiphates stands by the Lady, but as Eusthatios pointed out, none of them carry weapons. By the time the curtain falls down to block the entrance to the house once more, there's a dozen of armored men flanking the Lady, her daughter and Antiphates, and Rory swallows nervously. 

“Lady Lamia. We're here to talk,” the Doctor calls, calm and collected, and the Lady smiles magnanimously. 

“If so, then be welcome. Please, come in,” she tells them calmly, gesturing with one hand, blind eyes never leaving them. 

Without a second of hesitation, the Doctor opens the fence door and walks inside, with the other three following nervously, Eusthatios keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“You are a long way from Laestrygon, Sisters of the Snake. And while the waters are salty, the land is far too cold. Why would you come to this place? Why would you stay?” the Doctor asks as soon as he stops inside the semicircle of pale warriors, unbothered by all the eyeless stares or the Lady's own piercing blind gaze. 

“For the same reason you are here, Lord of Time. Because there's nowhere else,” she answers solemnly, and both Amy and Rory exchange startled looks. “Laestrygon is gone. It slipped through the cracks in the universe, to silence and the end of all things. For my family, I took a ship and ran, but we fell through another crack, to this simple world, and became stranded here. The ship will not sail again, and no aid will come to us.” 

“The cracks? Is she talking about the same cracks we saw in the _Byzantium?_ The crack in my bedroom wall?” Amy asks the Doctor, worried, and Rory tenses. 

The crack in Amy's bedroom had led to the Atraxi prison. He's not sure what this Byzantium is, he'll have to ask Amy later, but if the Lady's cracks are the same, he has a pretty good idea about what it means. 

“Is the planet gone then? Not just far away, but actually destroyed?” Rory asks, trying to figure that detail out. 

If they became stranded after the crack closed behind them, the Doctor can return the Lady and her daughter to Laestrygon. If the planet was destroyed, their actions were those of refugees striving for survival. One way or another, he could simply relocate them somewhere more fitting without any issues. 

Besides, the men from Zancle are all alive and accounted for, if hidden behind the faceless helmets, so that can only be good. 

Right? 

“Laestrygon is no more,” the Lady answers, blind eyes closing in pain, and both her and her daughter lower their heads in mourning. 

“What are you all talking about? By the Gods, speak plainly! You make no sense,” Eusthatios hisses, though he no longer has his hand on his sword when Rory looks at him. 

“The Lady's home is lost. She and her daughter have nowhere to go,” Amy explains simply, but Eusthatios gives her a deadpan look, having figured that much out himself. 

“You are refugees then. I can take you to the Shadow Proclamation, so you can relocate to a better suited world. But first, you have to free these men from your control,” the Doctor tells the Lady, gesturing with one hand at the statuesque warriors around them. 

The Lady turns to him, serious but with her blind eyes ablaze, and Rory's stomach drops. 

“I cannot do that.” 

“What have you done to them?” Eusthatios growls, once more grabbing his sword, and both Amy and Rory hurry to wave him down. 

“I need these boys to save my daughter. I won't let you take them,” she hisses, ignoring them, and the Doctor tilts his head with a confused frown. 

“Your daughter is almost mature, she has no need for additional protein she could not take from sea life. What are these humans for, Lamia?” he asks, looking at the girl by the Lady's side, whose lips are pressed into a thin line, hands clenched tightly in front of her. 

The Lady snarls, and, despite her human appearance, there's something in her blind eyes that makes Rory shiver and take a step back. 

“They will save my daughter's life. I will _not_ let her die! Now, _leave!_ Or I will use you too.” 

And, at those words, the pale warriors spread further, almost blocking their way out as they turn the semicircle into a full ring. 

“Uh, was that part of the plan?” Rory asks in a squeaky voice, turning so his back is pressed against the others' as they all move into a circle. 

“Do not make me raise my sword against you! You know me, children, and you know I will not hesitate to cut you down shall you threaten our lives! The Lady has recruited you to a false cause, listen to reason!” Eusthatios threatens, but Rory can feel his hesitation in the way he doesn't draw his sword, and how he presses his back against theirs rather than stepping up to the warriors. 

They are his people, after all, even if his only blood relative is standing guard over the Lady and her daughter, unmovable. 

“Raggedy Man, what do we do?” Amy hisses, grabbing onto Rory's forearm tightly enough to bruise. 

“Keep calm,” the Doctor tells them before breaking the circle, moving closer to the Lady while the other three turn to him with dread and disbelief. “Talk to me, Lamia. If you know what I am, you know I understand what you're going through. Your home is lost, your people gone. But there's nothing to be done about that, you can't go back and change time. I would know, I've tried. You can only mourn and move on, even if… But that doesn't matter, does it?” the Doctor asks, shaking his head to clear his mind of whatever he was going to say before cutting himself. “Your daughter is here. And there's nothing you wouldn't do for her, no star you wouldn't pluck from the sky, no monster you wouldn't face to keep her safe, even at the price of your own life. For that little bundle of drool, those tiny fingers wrapping around your own, those huge eyes looking at you as if you're their whole world… There is not a parent out there who would not give their life for their child's, no matter how grown up they are or how many Daleks stand in their way,” he whispers, looking down at his hand without seeing it, lost in his thoughts, before clenching it and focusing back on the immutable Lady. “I can help. But these men, these _Boys_ are someone else's children. Release them, and I'll get you and your daughter to safety.” 

The Lady doesn't react, still as unbending as a mountain and with her blind eyes alight, but her daughter shifts at her side, the shawl pulling back just enough for Rory to see her eyes. 

All four eyes, one pair on top of the other, are just human enough despite being a solid silver color that Rory manages to identify _hope_ in the way they crease, set on the Doctor and with her mouth open just a sliver. 

Rory's first thought is that the Lady isn't blind, that her eyes are, as her daughter's, simply not human. The second is that the daughter believes the Doctor, that she wants to take his offer, so they might have a chance at a peaceful resolution to this _mess._

But the Lady doesn't share her daughter's opinion. 

“If you really wish to help, you will give me the two men with you and be on your way. I have no need for the empty promises of the Destroyer of Worlds.” 

… Well. _That_ explains the Atraxi fleet running away. 

Eusthatios is confused, but there's wariness in his eyes as he looks at the Doctor. Amy's startled, but rather than fear Rory sees worry on her face, and remembers her words about how the Doctor looks like he wants to burn the world down when he snaps. 

And Rory finds himself apprehensive but not scared, somehow, even though he only realizes why when he sees the tense line of the Doctor's shoulders. 

One chance. This is still within the limits of that 'one chance' he's giving Lamia, before he goes all 'Terminator' on her, or whatever he did to earn the moniker 'Destroyer of Worlds'. 

Because that's what it is, a name like 'Doctor' but not like the fake 'Ulysses' Rory can't bring himself to use, even if Amy seems more practiced in using fake names for the alien. It's not an insult or a taunt, but a _name,_ something the Raggedy Doctor is known as because _everyone_ recognizes him as thus, he has _earned_ it. 

Rory very much agrees with Amy right now. They need 'the Doctor' back, instead of 'the Destroyer of Worlds' or whatever else he might be known as. If this is their one chance to remind him of who he is, Rory very much prefers the first. Doctors don't hurt people – though they know how to do so effectively. 

He remembers that night with his friends in university, when they got drunk and decided to see if, like in the movies, they really knew what would hurt the most while leaving the least damage behind with what they learnt in their lessons. The paper he'd found in the morning, covered in wobbly script written by different hands, had made him sicker than the alcohol rolling in his stomach. 

“That is not my name,” the Doctor tells Lamia in a soft but dark voice that somehow manages to carry effortlessly around the circle of warriors, and the three humans in the middle shiver before they can stop themselves. 

“It is written in the Medusa Cascade,” the Lady retorts calmly, not unsettled in the slightest, though her daughter spares her a quick uneasy look. 

“I didn't put it there. _The Doctor_ didn't put it there.” 

“Of course not,” the Lady agrees with a nod that should feel condescending but is actually sincere – and her calm expression turns to the most disgusted grimace Rory has ever seen, making him feel like the muck at the bottom of a forgotten trash can even though it is not directed at him. “Your victims did.” 

“Daleks are _not victims!”_ the Doctor roars, taking a step forward while slashing a hand, and the whole circle of warriors falls into a defensive stance in unison, lifting an arm as if they had actual shields strapped to them. 

Seeing how they are wearing what Rory assumes to be alien armor, he won't discard that thought. 

Lamia straightens with a threatening hiss while her daughter flinches back from the Raggedy Doctor, and Antiphates immediately takes a step forward to hide the daughter's almost delicate form behind his comparatively bulkier one. 

The Doctor takes a couple deep breaths, and Rory can _literally_ see how he forces himself to straighten into a less threatening stance, though the figure he cuts is no less fearsome for it. 

“And apparently, neither are you. One chance, Lamia. Let the kids go,” he tells her, voice even darker than before, and Rory actually grabs Amy's hand this time around. 

The Lady stands tall, looking down at the Doctor, and doesn't even lose a second to elaborate her answer. 

“No.” 

Instead of opening his mouth again, the Doctor shifts faster than Rory can fully register, drawing the screwdriver from the pouch tied to his tunic's belt— 

Antiphates is suddenly on top of him, smashing his head into the ground, before lifting him up like he's nothing more than a ragdoll and throwing him away— 

And, with a muted scream, the Doctor falls off the cliff. 

“Doctor!” Amy and Rory shout in unison just before Eusthatios pushes them behind him, drawing his sword to point the tip menacingly at Antiphates' chest, though the giant doesn't even flinch. 

“Stand down, you spoilt brat!” the Greek shouts, but there's fear in his wide eyes despite the steadiness with which he holds his sword. “I don't know what that sorceress has done to grant you such speed and strength, but I will not hesitate to cut you down where your stand, no matter how much your mother will hate me for it!” 

Holding Amy back from trying to rush to the warriors blocking their way to the cliff, Rory still manages to notice the way Antiphates' head tilts at Eusthatios' words. 

He's more focused on the sea, though, and how what little they can see seems to be spiking impossibly fast, the sound of rushing water filling the air— 

“Is that—?” Amy starts, stilling in her efforts to break free of Rory's grasp, and Rory blanches when he realizes what she's thinking. 

“That can't be the Doctor, can it?” 

“It is not,” Eusthatios hisses behind them, sparing them a pitying look before returning his attention to the immobile Antiphates. “It's the whirlpool.” 

And the rushing sound breaks into a roar, so sudden and intense as if the sea monster the fishermen were talking about had just burst out of the waves, out of the spiky white-crested water churning so high and strongly that it can be seen from their position over the small cliff. 

Rory feels himself go cold even as Amy's weight grows heavier in his arms, her litany of _no, no, no_ almost drowned by the roar of the sea. 

“No man can escape that,” the Lady tells them not unkindly, attracting their attention and extending a hand towards them when they meet her white eyes. “My condolences about your friend. But now… Eusthatios, Rory, won't you help me save my daughter?” 

“You just killed the Doctor!” Rory squeaks in disbelief gesturing at the churning sea with one hand before Amy recovers and pushes away from him. 

“He's not dead! He'll come back and you'll be sorry you didn't take the chance he was offering you! He just wanted to help!” Amy shouts at the Lady, who answers with an oddly sincere sadness. 

“I know. But in this instance, the only help he could provide was in his death. I am truly sorry it came to this, but if the universe is to live, the Doctor must die. Silence will fall,” she answers kindly while her daughter bows her head behind her, sad and mournful. “But my daughter may yet live. I just need your lives in exchange,” she tells Rory and Eusthatios, and the Greek takes a step to the side so that he's hiding the time travelers behind him, sword held at the ready. 

“Your daughter is at your side, hale and whole! You will claim no more men with your lies, vile siren, for I will smite you for the sake of Sicily and Zancle!” Eusthatios proclaims, though he takes a step back when Antiphates moves closer, and Rory grabs Amy's hand even as he looks at the unmovable warriors blocking their way out. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason. So strong of spirit, even after loss of love and life, stubbornly clinging to a dream that, sadly, will never come to be. I can give you your arm back, Eusthatios, as I have given Antiphates health. Will you truly not help me save my daughter, even if I help you in turn?” 

Eusthatios hesitates. Rory can see it clearly in the line of his shoulders, the twitch of the one where the missing arm was attached, how he shifts his grip on his sword. 

If he turns against them… Well, they are screwed one way or another, but Rory thinks that maybe this will be the time when he figures out just how far he can really go to protect Amy. 

The Lady asked Eusthatios and Rory to surrender, and all the people she has taken are men. This means she will brainwash them and do who knows what, turning them into her puppets… But she hasn't said anything about Amy. Somehow, Rory doubts she'll let Amy go, especially after seeing what she did to the Doctor. 

Rory might not know if they'll make it out, or if they will ever go home now, but he _knows_ he'll die before anything happens to Amy. The question is if he'll take any of them down with him – if he even can, of course, because he holds no illusions after Antiphates' display in getting rid of the Doctor. 

But Eusthatios takes in a deep breath and his stance becomes firmer, his back still to Amy and Rory, and the grip on his sword is strong once more. 

“I may have lost an arm and a brother, and I may not be a soldier anymore. But if you think I will not protect my sister and my polis despite all of my faults, then you are sorely mistaken! I _will_ find a way, no matter how long it takes, and I will _not_ surrender to a life of fallacy, no matter how much prettier it may be! This life hurts, and it's hard, and I may not be the man my sister and nephew need nor deserve, but I'll be damned if I ever stop trying!” Eusthatios tells the Lady and, this time, Antiphates is the one to step back when the Greek settles into a bristling stance, dangerous despite the lack of armor or his one lonely arm and short sword. “Release the boys! _Give me my nephew back!”_

“Or face the ire of a mother!” 

They all turn around sharply at the new voice, and Rory feels his jaw drop. 

Atop the hill, royally sliding off a donkey's back, Helene stands with _a bloody spear_ in her right hand, two meters long, with a leaf-shaped copper spearhead and a spike at the other end. She also carries a large round copper-rimmed wooden shield in her left hand, and, with her hair blowing in the wind, Helene looks like someone straight out of a movie. At her sides and back, more women and a couple of old fishermen straighten too, carrying farming implements and even one or two short swords like Eusthatios' in their hands. 

They look like nothing next to Lamia's perfectly organized and armored soldiers, but _damn_ if Rory isn't more scared of Helene right now than he is of the alien snake from outer space. 

Don't mess with a doctor, because they know how to break you. 

But _never_ mess with a mother, because they _won't surrender._

“And what makes you think that _this mother_ won't fight for her daughter?” Lamia calls back, snarling with suddenly sharp teeth, as all her soldiers move like a well-oiled machine to stand behind the fence, leaving Amy, Rory and Eusthatios at their back, though Antiphates still stands menacingly over them. “I will not give up on her!” 

“And I will not give up on my son!” Helene shouts back, barely heard over the roar of the whirlpool, suddenly louder, which forces her to step down the hill so she can be heard, moving slowly but surely despite how much the huge shield must weight. “Release our children, sorceress, and you and your daughter will yet live to see another day!” she orders as she stops in front of the fence, lowering her spear threateningly. 

“So be it. My apologies, people of Zancle. I liked you well enough. But my family comes first,” Lamia hisses, and her form wavers like paper in the wind, the thick braids on her back lifting as if they had a life of their own— 

“And what have your daughters to say about that?” 

Rory doesn't know when it happened, but the roar of the whirlpool is gone now, the sea still restless but no longer spiked, and so the new voice carries as easily as Lamia's hiss had a moment ago. 

He can't help the smile on his face or the relief making his knees weaken as he turns around, though they immediately turn to surprise and worry, a hand once more reaching for the kit he no longer carries in the non-existent pockets of his tunic. 

Because there he is, the Doctor, standing on the cliff, completely soaked and breathing heavily, but with no blood on his person and with determination in his eyes and every line of his body. But there are dark bruises quickly blooming over his arms and legs, rips all over the tunic that, as Rory noticed the day before, is quite hard to damage. And, well… 

“You were supposed to be dead,” Lamia whispers, eyes wide and braids falling at her back, her shape solidifying once more into that of a human woman, and the Doctor snorts. 

“I get that a lot,” he answers with a nonchalant shrug, unbothered by his bruises, as he approaches. 

Closer up, the pallor of his skin and the dark bags under his eyes are even more horrifying than they were from afar. 

And the fact that Amy is sad but not surprised doesn't make it any better. 

“Are you alright?” she calls, relieved but also nervous, and the Doctor gives her and Rory a quick grin before lifting his screwdriver. 

“Never better! Now, Lady Lamia, what about asking Charybdis' opinion about this whole mess?” he asks, smile slipping away, and both the Lady and her daughter jerk back in surprise and disbelief. 

Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor grins and the screwdriver lights up. 

“Mother, Sister. Please, stop,” a woman's voice calls from somewhere behind the Doctor, clearly heard even over the screwdriver's whir, and Rory is not the only one to jump in surprise. 

The Lady's daughter covers her mouth with her hands, as if startled, but the Lady herself bristles. 

“How _dare_ you—” 

“Mother, it's me!” the woman's voice interrupts, angry this time, but Lamia hisses in answer. “You stubborn—I was the one that broke grandmother's vase!” she shouts, and _that_ seems to startle the Lady, regardless of how confused everyone else looks like right now, the Doctor included. “I was so _angry_ with you, and I just knocked it over and decided I didn't care. I wanted you to find it and shout at me, so I could shout back, but when you actually saw it… When you found it, Scylla told you it had been _her.”_

“Scylla. Scylla and Charybdis,” Amy repeats under her breath, looking both startled and elated at whatever realization she has arrived to. “Scylla was a monster with many heads and Charybdis was another that created whirlpools. They stood at either side of a strait and the ships had to choose which monster they wanted to deal with if they were to cross. Ulysses chose Scylla but fell into Charybdis’ whirlpool,” she explains, and Rory lets out a soft 'oh' when he realices she's talking about the _Odyssey,_ while Eusthatios gawks at her. “I can't remember how it ended, though.” 

“By the Gods, are you a Seer too?” Eusthatios asks, and, after exchanging a startled look, Amy answers with a sheepish smile while Rory grimaces. “And I thought you couldn't become any stranger. How did he even survive the whirlpool?” 

“I grabbed onto a branch and held my breath,” the Doctor answers despite the distance, grinning widely and still keeping the screwdriver active. “Do you believe her now, Lamia?” he asks the Lady, who has turned to stare at her daughter—Scylla, the monster with many heads—in disbelief. 

“It is true, Mother,” she answers with a tinkling voice, totally _not_ what Rory was expecting, before she takes her shawl off to reveal her four eyes and the tendrils that extend from her head like the braids do Lamia's, but looking far more confident now despite all the gasps at her appearance than she did when she was hidden from human eyes. “You and Charybdis are so alike… I knew that if I let you know the truth, your fight would break you apart. And I… I couldn't let that happen,” she explains, voice breaking with the tears she's struggling to hold back, and Lamia… 

Lamia deflates, hugging her close, before turning to the Doctor. 

“Charybdis? My hatchling, my love, worry not. Neither of these men have been a match, but I'll—” 

“You will stop, Mother. It is too late now. You can't heal me,” Charybdis cuts once more, though this time she sounds rueful. “Please, let me go.” 

“ _No!”_ Lamia wails, letting Scylla go as she slithers— almost literally, with how smooth her steps are and how the tunic trails after her, and Rory remembers the Doctor saying their species had tentacles for legs—up to the Doctor, reaching for him but freezing when he takes a step back and points the screwdriver at her like a gun. “No, I won't let you die!” 

“What is she talking about?” Amy asks, hesitating between moving closer or staying where she is, and Rory looks around to see everyone, villagers and soldiers alike, are staring at Lamia and the Doctor with the same intensity. 

“Charybdis is dying. It's an autoimmune disease, her own body is destroying itself. She is losing her form, unable to do anything by herself anymore, and her brain will soon follow. In no time, she'll fall asleep and never wake up again, her body living but her mind dead. She will breathe, and anything caught in the whirlpool of her breath will be swallowed and consumed, but she will essentially be dead. An eternal sleep,” the Doctor explains, plain yet concise enough, and Rory grimaces before taking a step closer. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” he asks, looking between the devastated look on Lamia's face, Scylla's hunched shoulders and the Doctor's blankness. 

“Human men are the closest to female Laestrygonian. That's why Lamia took them, why she turned them partially Laestrygonian using whatever her ship was equipped with, trying to find someone compatible enough to cure Charybdis. But it's too late now. Even if she were to find a donor, Charybdis is too far gone for it to make a difference,” the Doctor explains calmly, not even reacting when Lamia roars right in his face. 

“It is _not_ too late! I will save her! _I will save my daughter!”_

“I don't _want_ you to!” Charybdis shouts right back, and Lamia jerks away from the Doctor. “Mother, _please._ Even if you could stop it, my body is… I would be _trapped_ in a broken body. You can't hear me anymore, not without his device to translate my thoughts. And with Laestrygon gone, there are no healers to fix me. You would be condemning me to a fate worse than death,” she whispers, and Lamia wails and falls to her knees, with Scylla immediately slithering to her side far more obviously than Lamia did before. “Mother, Sister. Please, let me go.” 

“I _can't!_ I can't, not my daughters, I can't…” Lamia sobs, hands covering her face, while Scylla curls against her side, though she looks up when the Doctor kneels in front of them. “How can you ask me to leave her? To let her die?” 

“I'm not,” he answers calmly, resting the hand not holding the screwdriver on her free shoulder. “ _Charybdis_ is asking you to let her live her life as she chooses. And that includes letting her go. Not that I'm the right person to talk about that,” he tells her, though his last words are accompanied by a humorless smile as he looks away. 

“You are,” Charybdis whispers, making them all look at the screwdriver in surprise. “You know the pain of saying goodbye to someone you love.” 

“Do I?” the Doctor asks brokenly, and Rory feels like he shouldn't be watching this, turning to meet Amy's teary gaze. 

“My Sight is not as good as my Mother's, but there was a graveyard, and an Angel,” Charybdis answers, and the Doctor snorts and rubs his eyes, sitting back on his heels far more tired than before yet with some humor in his lopsided smirk. 

“Oh, you are exactly like your Mother, Charybdis. Predicting the past,” he chuckles, but quickly lets the smile drop as he looks up at Lamia and Scylla. “Well? What will it be?” 

“I… I can't reverse what I did to those boys. I don't know how, I barely knew how to turn them Laestrygonian to begin with, I…” Lamia manages to say between sobs, cradling Scylla in her arms. 

“What does that mean? What have you done to my son?” Helene asks, awkwardly trying to open the gate before she drops the shield to do so, quickly stepping to Eusthatios' side to look up at Antiphates with mounting fear. 

“She did what had to be done,” a young voice says from the Doctor's vicinity, and everyone turns to look at him, at his _still_ lit screwdriver, before looking wide-eyed up at Antiphates. “To save people from the monsters, she would turn us into something else. She told all of us. And all of us agreed.” 

And, with those last words, he pulls his helmet off. 

His face is young despite his large body, and it's more than a little disturbing to see that his skin actually _is_ white and crackly instead of being covered by mud. Only, now that Rory focuses, it's more like a reptile shedding skin, especially on some of the other boys, all of them slowly taking off their helmets too to look at the distressed villagers slowly approaching the fence. All their eyes are a solid color, mostly in shades of brown, though Antiphates' own are the same olive as Helene's. 

Antiphates hisses softly as he kneels down, and his voice echoes closer this time as the Doctor approaches them, screwdriver still in hand. Behind him, Lamia and Scylla hug each other and observe in silence. 

“I was never good enough to help you, Mother. But the Lady Lamia gave me a chance. She said I could help her daughter, she said I could protect all of you. And I accepted,” Antiphates explains softly, reaching for one of Helene's hands but hesitating before touching it with his white one. “I was always a monster anyway.” 

Helene completely bypasses his hand, dropping to her knees and hugging him tightly instead, to his obvious surprise. 

“Never. You were _never_ a monster, Antiphates. _Never!_ Don't say such a thing ever again,” she scolds fiercely, but when she pulls back to meet her son's eyes, she's smiling. “You were always my son. My brave boy, so caring and strong, trying so hard no matter how many times you failed. How could you ever think otherwise?” 

Even with solid olive eyes, it's obvious when Antiphates tries to glance furtively at his uncle, and so Eusthatios deflates with a sigh, sheathing his sword. 

“And of course you would believe a stupid cripple so busy feeling sorry for himself that he could only feel better by belittling others. I was never a good example, child,” Eusthatios tells him both with remorse and pain, flinching at the glare Helene sends him. 

“By the Gods, if that speech you delivered when we arrived is not true, we _will_ have words,” she tells him, and both Eusthatios and Rory have to frown for a moment to remember what she's talking about, after which Rory exchanges a surprised grin with Amy while Eusthatios tries to wipe a hand across his strangely moist eyes without looking like he's doing so. “But first, let us go home.” 

“I cannot do that,” Antiphates tells Helene, standing up when she does but taking a step away, breaking the grip she has on his hand. “Mother, I am _needed_ here. We all are. Lady Lamia and Lady Scylla are alone in a world not their own, with no protection or guidance. I can help them. _We_ can help them,” he explains, taking yet another step back, and, when he looks around Rory sees that all of the soldiers are doing the same, moving away from their families to slowly approach the kneeling figures of the Laestrygonian. “We are no longer men, or even human. If we were to stay, other polis would send in their warriors to kill us, endangering all of you. We cannot do that to you.” 

“But—” 

“And _they_ need us. Lady Scylla's illusion is faulty, has always been, and Lady Lamia cannot protect her without revealing herself. However, if we were to leave, to settle a polis of our own somewhere no one would ever find us, they would be safe,” he tells them, looking at where a couple of the other warriors are gently helping the startled Laestrygonian to their feet. 

“No, Antiphates, _no._ You don't have to, you don't…” Helene stutters, reaching for her son again, but Eusthatios grabs her arm with a grim face but understanding in his eyes. “What are you doing? Let me go! Antiphates, you _can't!”_

“He is asking you to let him live his life as he chooses. All of them are. And that includes letting him go,” Eusthatios tells Helene, quoting the Doctor's previous words, and the way Helene's face crumbles lets them know that she _understands._

It doesn't mean she accepts, though, and, for a moment, Rory can only stand there, holding onto Amy's hand, knowing by the look on the Doctor's face and his silence that there really is nothing they can do but let this happen. 

And, finally, Helene nods, even if she throws herself at Antiphates to give him as tight a hug as she can. 

The Doctor turns the screwdriver off and steps away from the scene, from the families conversing as best as they can with their transformed kids, from Lamia's tears and the way Helene hugs her tightly, and Amy and Rory follow him to the hut. 

“So, is that it? Lamia, Scylla and the soldiers leave Sicily, and Zancle just goes on without them?” Amy asks him as he pulls away the curtain and walks into the 'house'. 

The place is even more alien than the TARDIS, with the strangely sinuous shapes of everything, but the Doctor doesn't seem to have any problem deciphering the controls, pressing buttons and tapping holographic screens as they pop up. 

“Yup. I'm going to lower the ship on Charybdis, to mute the whirlpools, and, someday, it will be the ship's position between two currents which will cause them instead. Lamia and the new Laestrygonian will relocate to Sardinia, where they will establish a new 'polis' of human and Laestrygonian culture, away from 'monster hunters' and the Shadow Proclamation. The statues they will erect will be thought of as the inspiration for the cyclops in the Odyssey, and, with no one there to remember the truth, the mystery will just fade away. Zancle will grow, accepting new settlers now that there are no sea monsters to destroy the ships, and become Messina. And, well,” he explains, shrugging before turning to them with a rueful smile. “Life just goes on.” 

“And everybody lives,” Rory muses to himself as he pulls the curtain and looks outside, at the group of people who are arguing among themselves but who will, in due time, move on with their lives, shaking his head as he tries to process what just happened. “One way or another, everyone will live the way they chose to. And here I thought this would end in a bloodbath,” he huffs, turning around to see Amy smile at him in joy and relief, while the Doctor blinks slowly, dumbstruck. “Huh, everything alright?” 

“Everybody lives?” he repeats in a croak, frozen at the controls, almost as if talking to himself—before, slowly, a disbelieving smile splits his face, brightening him up despite the bruises and overall exhausted appearance. “Everybody… I kind of saved them, didn't I? Everyone, even Charybdis… I saved them?” he asks, actually _asks,_ turning to them and waiting for their confirmation, as if he can't really believe it. 

Amy grabs his hands and smiles at him, and Rory carefully moves to her side to rest a hand on his shoulder, grinning when he looks between them. 

“Yes, Raggedy Man. You saved everyone.” 

* * *

“And I saved them! I actually did it!” Koschei laughs as he spins around the controls, the TARDIS singing all around him while Theta lounges against the rails with a huge grin. 

“Yes, you did,” he confirms with a laugh before walking into the middle of his next loop. “Isn't it about time you got a shower and changed out of that tunic? Amy and Rory should be more than done. They're probably asleep by now, if the TARDIS has made them a room. They looked exhausted after all the excitement.” 

“Oh, they most definitely are, humans and their frail bodies,” Koschei agrees easily, turning to the controls to make sure the TARDIS is safely floating in the Vortex mostly out of habit. “Or, actually, they better be. I'm sure Amy won't be happy if she goes to her own wedding all sleep-deprived,” he laughs, though the memory sours his good mood the slightest bit. 

The cracks in the universe, the fissures that erased the Weeping Angels aboard the _Byzantium_ but that can also take away something as large and complex as a whole planet. 

And all of them originate from the twenty-sixth of June of 2010. 

The date of Amy and Rory's wedding. 

It can't be a coincidence. 

“Oh, come on, don't look so down. Whatever it is, you can deal with it,” Theta tells him, lounging on the controls so he can meet Koschei's eyes. 

“How can you be so sure of that? This isn't a time ripple, for crying out loud!” 

“Of course not! But you've dealt with worse things before.” 

“That was—” 

“ _And_ you can still deal with them now. Lamia and Helene and all their people could tell you that,” Theta adds before Koschei can protest, and he finds himself stopping as the realization of what he did dawns on him _again._

“I really can do it, can't I?” he asks softly, part of him still too surprised at the way he just turned the situation around back in Sicily. 

He had been so wrong, but when he'd scanned the weird lump at the origin of the whirlpool, holding onto a dead sapling sticking from a crack on the cliff wall and battered by water on all sides, and heard Charybdis' voice begging for forgiveness… 

He'd adapted. He'd read the situation, and instead of setting everyone on fire and be done with it, he'd tried to reason with them. 

And he'd done it. Koschei had saved the day. 

The grin that splits his face is so wide that it hurts. 

“I _can_ fix things,” he tells Theta with more strength this time, and the ghost smiles blindingly. 

“Of course you can. You just have to believe it. So, what now? Wedding or cracks?” 

“Cracks. I need to figure out just what is going on and stop it, so that Amy can have her wedding in peace. I'm going to drop them back in Leadworth first, of course, but once I've fixed everything and brought everyone back—” 

And Koschei freezes, eyes widening in realization. 

The cracks erase people, erase _whole planets._ If he can fix them, he can bring Laestrygon and Father Octavian back. 

But right now, he can only stare at the screen behind Theta's confused frown, and remember _River._

River Song, who knows him in the future, who knows his face as the Doctor's. 

Only, the Doctor is dead, with only this possible echo stuck in Koschei's head left, and his body was burnt until nothing remained. 

“Koschei? I don't like that look on your face,” Theta calls, uneasy now, but Koschei can't stop his new grin any more than he could the last one, growing wider and sharper as the thought coalesces in his mind. 

“I can bring everyone back,” he repeats, meeting Theta's eyes and laughing as he gestures grandly in his excitement. “I can bring everyone back! If I can reverse whatever caused the cracks, turn back time, I can bring everyone back!” 

“Yes, you've said that. Why do you keep repeating it? What am I missing here?” Theta asks, confused, as he tilts his head, and Koschei hops to him and barely stops himself from ineffectively hugging the ghost. 

“I can bring _you_ back!” 

_“What?!”_

“Don't you see? The kind of energy that created the cracks would be enough to rewind time _just_ the slightest bit, to save you! Or, no, alright, because that would create a paradox, but you – you aren't _just_ an echo, are you? I could use that energy to get you out of my head, to get you a new body! Or to get _myself_ a new body!” he proclaims grandly, almost vibrating in excitement as he starts the analysis for the cracks, their energy levels, anything and everything, even as his brain moves on to the next possibility. “Don't you see? That's why River knows this face as the Doctor's – it's _your_ face! I know how to sustain a body not of Time Lord origin, and with your regeneration energy in _this one,_ it's compatible! Oh, Lamia, _Eternals bless you!_ Don't you see? I don't _need_ a body! You can take this one, and I could take, oh – _aha!_ Your Metacrisis! It's subpar, partly human, but I've dealt with worse, and all your memories are in that body! It would work!” 

“No, no and _no!_ How can you—He's not even in this universe anymore!” the ghost protests, flailing uselessly since, just like Koschei can't touch him, neither can Theta touch Koschei. 

“The cracks! I could use them to hop there, or their energy, and—oh, wait, he's with Rose?” he realizes as he checks the TARDIS’ database, grimacing for a moment before a new grin splits his face. “Alright, new plan, scan the brain but leave the body, Rose doesn't deserve having the Metacrisis taken away from her if she likes it. But still, the memories! And I really don't need a body, we can find something else! What about an android? Can't be much difficult, right? At least it'll last longer than a human body, those are really pitiful—” 

“That's madness!” Theta interrupts, stepping between Koschei and the TARDIS screen, forcing him to jump back in surprise, though it quickly washes away into anger. 

“No, it's not! Do you know what madness is? River calling _this face_ the Doctor! How do you explain that?” he asks with a snarl, and Theta hesitates. “You can't, that's how! I am _not_ you, but _you_ can take over me! Come on, I _know_ how to survive without a body. But _you_ don't. What other chances do we have?” 

They fall silent, glaring at each other for a moment before Theta turns away with a huff, rubbing the back of his neck, and Koschei gives him a rueful grin before turning to the screens. 

There's no other option. Maybe Theta doesn't like it, but Koschei knows they can do it. He can bring the Doctor back, let him use Koschei's body as his own for this last regeneration, while Koschei uses something else – or, maybe, they can switch roles, with Koschei being the annoying ghost instead. He knows how to deal with subpar bodies, he can figure something out. And, with the Doctor in a body of his own, _he_ can help Koschei out too. 

It'll work. Koschei will fix the cracks and get the Doctor back and then they can go to Amy's wedding and just, do _whatever_ after. 

It'll be alright. 

Koschei will make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This one took _so long…_ Hopefully, next one will be faster…
> 
> Lamia was a beautiful woman, lover of Zeus, who lost her children to Hera's jealousy and became twisted by grief into a temptress and child-killing monster. She was supposed to be cursed with insomnia by Hera, so Zeus gave her the ability to take out her eyes to get some rest, alongside shape-shifting abilities. It was later rationalized that Lamia was the Queen of Libya, who used her power to take children from their parents and kill them, and whose drunkness made her blind to everything.
> 
> Some sources identify Lamia as queen of Lamos and its man-eating Laestrygonians, ruled by King Antiphates and an unnamed queen, while others think she's the mother of the monsters Scylla and Charybdis.
> 
> The Laestrygonians were man-eating giants from Greek mythology, either from Sicily or Sardinia, and worked day and night as herdsmen and shepherds.
> 
> Scylla and Charybdis lived on opposing sides of a strait, likely the Strait of Messina between the Italian peninsula and Sicily, so narrow that sailors had to pass close to either one of them to cross. Scylla had four eyes, six long necks with grisly heads, each of which with three rows of sharp shark's teeth, and with her body consisting of twelve tentacle-like legs, a cat's tail, and six dog's heads ringing her waist. Charybdis was a large bladder with flippers for arms and legs, chained to the bottom of the sea, under a small rock on one side of the strait, which, three times a day, sucked in sea water and belched it out, creating large whirlpools.
> 
> There is a whirlpool in the Strait of Messina, but it is only a danger to small boats on extreme circumstances.
> 
> So, with that information, and a randomizer that gave me the names Helene and Eusthatios (well-built, stable) for their 'local contacts', we got a story! I didn't want to do just a rewrite of _The Vampires of Venice_ because the circumstances for that episode aren't really appliable here, with Amy _not_ kissing the Doctor, but I didn't want to add the weight of more 'tough choices' or los on the characters… and so they got a lesson in learning to let go instead.
> 
> Though I'm surprised at the lesson the Master got out of this story. The characters really did what they wanted in this one…
> 
> Next time: Stranded time travelers, old enemies back from the grave, pizza and a movie, the fate of the universe resting on their ragtag group… All in all, just another day at the office - as long as your office is under the Roald Dahl Plass.


End file.
